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treatise. 



jO unpretentious a volume scarcely warrants the digni- 
fied introduction of a preface, but the editors cannot 
well allow their friends of Battery "A" to hasten 
(eagerly, they trust) into the following pages without 
a few words explaining the character, the purpose, 
and the limitations of our publication. 

The Battery Book is not an exhaustive historical 
It is not a flag-waving glorification of our accomplish- 
ments, couched in the gilded phrases employed for raising lib- 
erty loans. It is not a solemn book of heroics, nor does it cloud 
our true memories of war with an undue profusion of humor. An 
exclusively humorous book we have taken pains to avoid, for how- 
ever amusing many of our experiences may now appear, neither the 
war nor our part in it could be called uproariously funny. Our book 
is a narrative, a brief narrative, of our war experiences, a sincere at- 
tempt to tell truly what we did, what we thought, and what we felt. 
Our thoughts regarding the war have undergone a marked change 
already, and will change still more as years go by; but this little 
volume, if it has any merit at all, may perhaps preserve for our future 
consideration something of the realism of war, something of its drudg- 
ery, its humor, and its horrors. If, thirty years hence, it brings back 
to us the days of Camp Upton and the France of 1918, we may find 
in it a deep source of comfort and pride, possibly even an inspiration 
to elevate our citizenship to a plane worthy of the sacrifice made by 
those we left asleep in France. 

The editors would like to have followed exactly the plans origi- 
nally laid out for the book, but it has been impossible to do so. Nathan 
Handler was unable to take time from his business to complete, and 
put into finished form, the work which he commenced in France, 



and the section allotted to him has necessarily been omitted. The 
personal histories were found incomplete, and we have not inserted 
the military citations as originally planned. The divisional and 
regimental histories supply both the personal remarks and the mili- 
tary commendations, so that our omission of them at least avoids 
unnecessary repetition, a circumstance which we look upon rather 
as a virtue than a fault. A conscious effort has been made to supple- 
ment the divisional and regimental books by supplying what they 
lack — an intimate insight into our daily experiences. 

The editors regret even more that they cannot make the book a 
personal record for each individual member of the battery, but for 
manifest reasons such a thing is beyond their ability. For similar 
reasons they have found great difficulty in doing justice to each 
department of the organization, because, as members of the gun 
crews, their knowledge of the other branches of the battery is limited. 
When the organization was not at the front, its various divisions 
were less distinct and our narrative will be of general interest; but 
while in the field, the drivers, cannoneers, and special detail were as- 
signed to their respective duties, and even camped in different places, 
and it has been totally beyond the power of the editors to describe 
adequately the varied actions of these individual groups, though an 
honest endeavor to do so has been made. Similarly, because the 
editors were not officers and were not admitted to official councils, 
they are incapable of giving the officers' point of view. The thoughts 
and feelings of those sequestered potentates have been left to Major 
Dick's pen. The sentiments which the battery held for its officers 
have been freely and we hope truly recorded. Those sentiments were 
a vital factor in our experiences, and to leave them unmentioned 
would be a gross omission. 

The battery is indebted to several of its members for contributing 
assistance to the publication of its history. The original rough draft 
of the book, compiled in France, was written from data supplied by 
the following men : Baecker, Feldman, Marriner, Mueller, Potts, and 
Steuterman. Hale's services in type-writing that draft were invalu- 
able, and the efforts of Gray and Stevens on the personal histories are 



greatly appreciated. We extend our thanks to Dunkak and Gibbons 
for collecting and managing the subscription funds turned in before 
demobilization, and to the many members of the battery who, by 
their advice and encouragement, nurtured the book in its tender in- 
fancy. It is almost superfluous to express our indebtedness to Fair- 
man R. Dick and Vernon B. Smith, for their work stands as con- 
spicuous evidence of its merit. 

The editors are happy to take this opportunity of expressing their 
gratitude for the splendid support given them by the several mem- 
bers of the organization who have taken it upon themselves, at the 
instigation of Major Dick, to join the latter in lending financial 
means for the publication of this volume. But for their generous aid 
the history of Battery "A" might not have been published for many 
months to come. 

The Editors, 

Francis L. Field 
Guy H. Richards 
New York City, August, ig2i. 



Cxv] 





^\iU.56irv\Lel J.Reid Jt?|w 



|HE publication of The Battery Book was first conceived 
a few days after the armistice, while the battery was 
billeted in the shell-shattered town of Marcq. At a 
formation, held in a field adjoining the village, the 
plans for the book were submitted to the consideration 
of the battery, and without hesitation we unanimously 
insisted that the volume must be dedicated to our 
fallen leader. Lieutenant Reid. It is fitting that, in 
a book so dedicated, we should give way to our feelings to the extent 
of recording a few of the facts and a few of our sentiments which led 
us to that unhesitating decision. It is impossible for us to forget, and 
it is equally impossible for us to translate into print, what Lieuten- 
ant Reid meant to us in the dark days of the war. Yet, in an effort to 
satisfy our wish of expressing in some measure the devotion and 
respect he won from us, we write this brief account of his life, of the 
part he played in Battery "A," and of the intense admiration which 
he inspired in us. 

Lieutenant Reid was the second son of Mr. and Mrs. Samuel J. 
Reid, and was born on September 24, 1883, in Brooklyn, New York. 
He attended the public elementary schools, and later entered the 
Brooklyn Boys' High School, where he not only maintained an ex- 
cellent record for scholarship, but also won a name for himself in 
athletics. 

His career at Princeton University, 1902 to 1906, was a marked 
success from every standpoint. By dint of consistent hard work he 
stood high in his studies, yet won distinction for himself in a number 
of extra-curriculum activities. He was elected to the editorial board 
of The Princetonian, the college daily newspaper, an honor which, in 
itself, was a tribute to his powers for conscientious effort and vigi- 
lant application. He was elected a member of The Ivy Club, was 
voted the most popular man in his class, and in his Senior year 
was elected president of that class, perhaps the consummate honor 
which a college man may attain. He was devoted to athletics, partic- 
ularly to baseball, and at the end of his Freshman year won the 
distinction of being selected as catcher for the All-American base- 

Cxvii] 



ball team. During the remainder of his years at college he played 
third base and short-stop. He was elected captain of the varsity 
baseball team, and as a fitting close to his splendid athletic career, 
he gave Princeton the intercollegiate championship by making the 
winning run in the last championship game of the season with Yale. 

After leaving Princeton, Lieutenant Reid entered the New York 
Law School, from which institution he graduated in 1908. Upon his 
admission to the bar he entered the law firm of William F. Mc- 
Coombs, as a law clerk, and later joined the legal department of the 
Brooklyn Rapid Transit Company, where he made a reputation for 
himself as a successful trial lawyer. Subsequently he was appointed 
Assistant United States District Attorney in the Second District of 
New York (Brooklyn). In this capacity he quickly won the esteem 
of the federal judges by his integrity and unimpeachable methods of 
practising law. When the news of his death reached this country 
this same court held memorial services in his honor, and caused a 
resolution of commemoration to be spread upon its official records. 
Resigning as Assistant District Attorney, he was appointed a referee 
in bankruptcy and took up private practice, associating himself with 
the law firm of King & Booth, and later with that of Morgan, Carr 
& Baiter. 

America's declaration of war on Germany found Lieutenant Reid 
a young lawyer of great promise, embarked upon a career which gave 
every indication of leading to high honors in the legal world. At 
that time Lieutenant Reid was above the age established by the 
Selective Service Act, and consequently not subject to enforced mil- 
itary service. It is a well established fact that he could have had a 
commission as major in the Judge Advocate's Department of the 
army, but he refused such a position because, as he often remarked, 
he was convinced that the issues of the war would be decided on the 
battle-field. On one occasion, when asked why he preferred the com- 
batant to the non-combatant branch of the service, he expressed 
this conviction, and added, "That's where the crosses of war lie." He 
used to chafe under the delays which held the battery in the States, 
and often said that he would rather be anything in Pershing's army 
than an officer in America. 

He enlisted in May, 191 7, in the First Officers' Training Camp at 
Plattsburg, New York, where he successfully completed the course 
in artillery. He was recommended for a captaincy, but the number 
of captaincies to be granted was reduced at the last moment, so he 
accepted the lower rank of first lieutenant, relying on his energy and 
devotion to his work to win him promotion. On leaving Plattsburg 

[xviii] 



he was ordered to Camp Upton, and was there assigned to Battery 
"A" in September, 191 7. During his first three months with us he 
devoted himself to drilling and conditioning the raw recruits. We 
can well remember him in his particular duty of leading the battery 
on long hikes every afternoon, hikes which sometimes left us tired 
and sore, but which seemed to fatigue him little. He apparently 
possessed wonderful stamina and endurance, for he always finished 
fresh and strong. His evenings were mostly spent in his quarters 
studying military books. 

In December, when Major Dick (then Captain) was ordered to 
the School of Fire in Fort Sill, the command of the battery fell to 
Lieutenant Reid. For three months he had the development of the 
organization completely in his own hands. Then, for the first time, 
the attributes which won our respect and trust were revealed to us in 
full. We learned what a splendid man he was, learned that an officer 
can enforce the prerogatives of his rank without being imperious, and 
learned that discipline and kindness are compatible. 

Those of us who sailed to Europe on the Leviathan will never for- 
get his conduct during the voyage. Living under unbearable con- 
ditions, crowded below deck in hot, unventilated quarters, harassed 
by numberless restrictions, we were miserable, and our morale was 
deplorably low. Time and again Lieutenant Reid was to be found 
in our quarters, talking with us, counseling us, encouraging us, and 
endeavoring by a word here and an act there to ease the severity of 
our predicament. On one occasion, when the supply of drinking 
water was shut ofi" for several hours, he took groups of men to his 
quarters on the officers' deck (forbidden to enlisted men) and there 
filled their canteens from the officers' fresh water supply. It was un- 
doubtedly a breach of discipline which would have been gravely 
frowned upon by higher authorities, but we were really in distress 
from a lack of water, and Lieutenant Reid was unwilling that his 
men should sufl'er if he could prevent it, even at the risk of receiving 
a reprimand. It was his constant consideration for us, his unfailing 
fair-mindedness, that won our affection and loyalty. Our welfare 
was always in his mind and his welfare in ours. 

When, in Camp de Souge, he was relieved from the duties of firing 
executive and assigned to the supervision of work at the stables, we 
were dismayed. True, that no more competent man could have been 
found in the battery to handle the position, but it seemed unfair, 
damnably unfair, even to the drivers who were delighted to be under 
his tutelage, that the ranking lieutenant of the regiment and the fir- 
ing executive of the battery should be sequestered at the stables, dt- 



prived of an opportunity of gaining practical experience in di- 
recting practice fire on the range. To those in the ranks his transfer 
seemed nothing less than a demotion, nor were they alone in their 
opinion, for many officers of the regiment expressed the same judg- 
ment. Lieutenant Reid said little about the matter, but his men 
appreciated how deeply chagrined he was. One of his non-commis- 
sioned officers once spoke to him disparagingly on the subject of 
patriotism. His reply was, "Always remember. Sergeant, we are not 
fighting for any individual, but for high principles and for the coun- 
try." Whatever his own grievances may have been, he apparently 
never lost sight of the greater issues of the war. The sincerity of his 
patriotism and his loyalty to principle could never for a moment be 
questioned. It is a comforting fact to realize that, in the face of such 
ideals as he held, he could treat his personal misfortunes as com- 
paratively insignificant. 

However, despite his transfer, Lieutenant Reid was promised an 
opportunity to fire a problem on the range. His chance never came, 
but the men at the guns were expecting day after day to operate the 
pieces at his command, and made arrangements with the special 
detail men in the observation posts to send down word when his turn 
came, in order that the cannoneers might redouble their efforts to 
operate the howitzers with absolute accuracy. 

About two weeks before we left Camp de Souge, Captain Dick was 
transferred from the battery to remain at the camp as an instructor. 
We were without a battery commander. Lieutenant Reid, as senior 
lieutenant, was put in temporary command, and our hopes were 
raised that the appointment would be permanent; but Lieutenant Reid 
was in a measure unprepared for the position, because he had had no 
training on the range, and we feared that this lack of necessary ex- 
perience might cost him the promotion. Who would be Captain 
Dick's successor? "An outsider from another battery," came the 
rumor, and our hearts sank. "Not so," came a second report. Would 
Lieutenant Reid command us? "Yes!" said one report. "No!" said 
another. "Perhaps," said a third, and the battery discussed wild 
schemes for petitioning the Colonel. But the uncertainty was sud- 
denly dispelled by the announcement, "Lieutenant Reid is battery 
commander!" There was not a man among us who did not whoop 
for joy. The morale of Battery "A" was never higher, and when, 
on the Fourth of July, we paraded through the crowded streets of 
Bordeaux led by our new commander, we positively bristled with 
pride and good spirits. 

Though Lieutenant Reid now stood in line for almost certain 



promotion, we realized that his appointment depended on the record 
he might make in handling the battery. He was on trial, and we 
appreciated the fact as fully as did he. We would have done any- 
thing to make his record above reproach, and the drudgery of our 
daily tasks was greatly alleviated by the sustaining determination to 
retain him as battery commander. In preparing to leave Camp de 
Souge, we all set to and worked like dogs to leave the barracks in 
spotless condition, to collect and pack all equipment, and later load 
it on board the train with speed and precision; in short, to show 
Colonel Smith that Battery "A" was the most efficient outfit in the 
A. E. F., and was commanded by the most efficient officer. When 
Lieutenant Reid came into the orderly room before we left the camp, 
he said to a group of us, "Well, there doesn't seem to be much for me 
to do. It's all done already." It was exceedingly gratifying to know 
that our efforts had produced a favorable impression, and later, when 
we heard that Colonel Smith had made complimentary remarks 
about the speed with which we loaded the troop train at Bonneau, we 
felt that our endeavors had not been in vain. 

It was his policy to give his men, and especially his non-coms, as 
much responsibility as they could handle, and his remark, just 
quoted, proves that on one occasion at least his confidence was not 
misplaced, and that his policy was fruitful of excellent results. It 
would be ridiculous to claim that we always lived up to his confi- 
dence in us, but certainly, when responsibility was given us, we had 
an unfailing desire to make good in his eyes, and except in the most 
adverse circumstances, we put forth our best efforts. What we call 
confidence was in many cases dependence, because, when he first took 
command, Lieutenant Reid was comparatively ignorant about the 
operation of the howitzers, and relied on his subordinates to help 
him out. He had not fired a single problem on the range, and was 
even unacquainted with the duties of the various cannoneers. How 
easily he might have pursued the course, which many officers fol- 
lowed, of attempting to hide a lack of knowledge under a show of 
sheer bluff, disdaining the judgment and training of the ranks, and 
struggling to maintain the dignity which accompanies a Sam Browne 
belt by looking severely intolerant. Lieutenant Reid was not of the 
caliber to entertain false pride and false pretenses. He openly ad- 
mitted his ignorance. He visited the gun-pits and frankly asked the 
gun sergeants to explain the nomenclature and operation of the how- 
itzers. He solicited the assistance of the instrument sergeant, a 
graduate engineer, and candidly acknowledged that the latter, with 
his education in higher mathematics, knew more about artillery than 

[xxi] 



he did. He seemed to learn quickly, for he seldom asked the same 
question twice. Any other man might possibly have lost the respect 
of his men by such frank admissions, but they had the opposite effect 
on us, for we admired him the more for his absolute sincerity and 
lack of self-conceit. He made us feel that we were there to cooperate 
with him and he with us in the common purpose of making Battery 
"A" an efficient organization. 

This spirit of cooperation sometimes produced an intimacy be- 
tween officer and man which would have sent cold shivers down the 
rigid spine of a West Point cadet. We conventionally think of an 
officer as an austere individual who must keep himself on a superior 
plane of unbending dignity, a man to be feared, not loved, and we 
conventionally think of a soldier as a machine to be greased and oiled 
and directed hither and yon. But the military regulations which 
designate a soldier as an automaton and an officer as a sort of exalted 
potentate in a feudalistic hierarchy fail to meet the demands of 
human nature, and particularly the natures of American citizens. 
Lieutenant Reid was governed in his actions by his heart and his 
knowledge of his men, and by military manuals only in so far as they 
served his conscience and his common sense. It never seemed to us 
that he overstepped the bounds of military propriety. Rather, he 
changed the nature of that propriety without losing the respect due 
to his rank. 

When, at the second Vesle position, we were suffering from long 
hours of hard work and from wretched rations, he steadily refused to 
take advantage of the supposed privileges of his rank. He refused 
to allow the cooks to go in quest of special food for him, but made 
every effort to get better rations which the whole battery might share 
with him. On the night of our arrival at the position, Mongeon 
failed to prepare Lieutenant Reid's bedding roll and fell asleep with- 
out telling where he had put it. The roll could not be found in the 
dark of the woods, but when Lieutenant Reid discovered that Mon- 
geon was asleep, he gave orders not to disturb him, because "the boy" 
was worn out from riding all day as a courier. He lay down outside 
the P. C, declining insistent offers of a bed in the dugout, and ac- 
cepting only under protest the blankets which were spread for his 
use by the two telephone men on duty. He said that they would 
need them before the night was over, but they naturally would not 
listen to him. In all things he considered, and we came to believe, 
that he lived with us, not apart from us. 

To any one who may claim that such conduct on the part of an 
officer is contrary to the interests of discipline and undermines the 

Cxxii] 



morale of a military unit, we might point out that Washington's repu- 
tation as a disciplinarian does not seem to have suffered because he 
gave his shoes to one of his men and marched barefooted through a 
biting snow-storm. We may say, also, that under the circumstances the 
morale of Battery "A" could not have been higher than it was under 
the leadership of Lieutenant Reid, and that, at the same time, dis- 
cipline never slackened. It is true that during the disheartening days 
at the second Vesle position, when constant work, miserable rations, 
and little rest made life a burden, our spirits were very low indeed; but 
the combined efforts of Napoleon, St. Peter, Venus, and Charlie Chap- 
lin would not have sufficed to make us cheerful. In those deadening 
circumstances we failed to meet Lieutenant Reid's expectations, and 
when some of the non-commissioned officers complained that men on 
detail were avoiding their fair share of work, he assembled all men 
at the position and gave us a scolding that made us feel cheaper than 
French mud. When discipline had to be enforced there was no more 
strict disciplinarian than our commander, but he never punished 
blindly or in anger. One tired individual got disgracefully drunk. 
He was given rigorous advice and light punishment. Another once 
told Lieutenant Reid a deliberate lie. He was court-martialed and 
sent to a military prison for six months. And woe to the man who 
was careless or made stupid mistakes! During the time when he was 
instructor at the stables he would never tolerate for an instant any 
mistreatment of the horses, and one day in the lines, when he dis- 
covered a few of the drivers violating one of his strictest orders — that 
no horse was to be watered with a bit in his mouth — the miscreants 
received a scathing arraignment the like of which they never wanted 
to hear again. 

The day following Lieutenant Reid's death his faithful orderly 
was struck and instantly killed by a fragment of a bursting shell. 
Before Mongeon's burial his diary was removed from his pocket. In 
it was found his entry for August 22d. We quote it because, with all 
its simple brevity, it expresses our thoughts of Lieutenant Reid far 
more adequately than can these pages. It said, "Lieutenant Reid 
was killed to-day — I have lost my best pal." In that touching senti- 
ment the secret of Lieutenant Reid's leadership seems revealed to us. 
He was our pal. 

One day he was met by a private who had known him in America 
but who had not seen him for several years. Hesitatingly the soldier 
advanced, saluted, and noticing the lieutenant's insignia said, "Ex- 
cuse me, sir, but are you Lieutenant Reid?" Recognizing him. Lieu- 
tenant Reid instantly replied, "No, Charlie, not Lieutenant — just 

Cxxiii] 



Sam." He was a comrade in the highest sense of the word. A cordial 
greeting, a smile, a few words were always ours when we met him. In 
Camp Upton it was his delight to come upon the men batting out a 
baseball on the ground between our two barracks. Unfailingly he 
asked permission to join in the game and would take up a bat and 
drive out flies. He seemed to value the inherent authority of his rank 
only as it offered opportunity for greater usefulness, and when hecould 
legitimately disregard the military barrier which separated us, he 
did so. The discreet intimacy which resulted between us vastly in- 
creased rather than diminished our respect for his authority, for 
added to the respect we held for his authority was the respect and 
admiration we held for his personality. He made it far easier to be 
willing subjects to discipline and the artificial distinctions of rank 
because he revealed to us the necessity for discipline and rank. If 
he, with all his sympathy and friendly kindness, saw the necessity of 
enforcing discipline, then we knew that absolute obedience was vital. 
There was perfect understanding between us, and such an under- 
standing we learned to believe was an important factor in the attain- 
ment of the greatest efficiency. Once the military barrier was tem- 
porarily passed, he was with us as a comrade, and even when it 
stood between us, high and forbidding, we knew that he was our 
friend. What we had to suffer in privation he gladly suffered with 
us, to show how privation could and should be borne. When he got 
sleep he saw that we did also. At the front he generally ate what we 
had to eat, and would always have done so had not the cooks of their 
own accord prepared special food for him. And on many a hike he 
dismounted from his horse and allowed the weary to take his place 
in the saddle. 

Lieutenant Reid once remarked, "If I could be captain of this 
battery I would be happy." He died before he could be officially in- 
formed of the fact that his commission as a captain had been ap- 
proved and granted; but let it be hoped that he died not without the 
realization that he had won more than a piece of metal to wear on 
his shoulder. He had fairly won the real respect, the affection, the 
admiration, and the intense devotion of hundreds of men. Few have 
won as much. We shall always remember him as a friend, a soldier, 
and a leader, but, above all, as a true American. 



[xxiv] 



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T is a distressing and oppressive duty, gentlemen of 
the Congress, which I have performed in thus address- 
ing you. There are, it may he, many months of fiery 
trial and sacrifice ahead of us. It is a fearful thing to 
lead this great, peaceful people into war, into the most 
terrible and disastrous of all wars, civilisation itself 
seeming in the balance. But the right is more precious 
than peace, and we shall fight for the things which we 
have always carried Clearest our hearts — for democracy, for the right 
of those who submit to authority to have a voice in their own govern- 
ments, for the rights and liberties of small nations, for a universal 
dominion of right by such a concert of free peoples as shall bring 
peace and safety to all nations and make the world itself at last free. 
"To such a task we can dedicate our lives and our fortunes, every- 
thing that we are and everything that we have, with the pride of 
those who know that the day has come when America is privileged to 
spend her blood and her might for the principles that gave her birth 
and happiness and the peace which she has treasured. God helping 
her, she can do 7io other." ^ 

When these words resounded through the halls of Congress, the 
United States was confronted with the staggering problem of con- 
verting itself from a land of serene peace and prosperity into a tre- 
mendous military establishment. Not the least factor in that con- 
version was the creation of a huge army from peace-loving civilians, 
and as we write there are probably few of us who do not endorse the 
legislation which Congress enacted for that purpose. Reliance on 
the slow, uncertain system of volunteers would have been a ghastly 
mistake. Somehow Mr. Bryan's rhetorical flourish about a million 
men springing to arms overnight appears totally hollow. Perhaps he 
referred to an arctic night. It would have been unfair, as well as 
unwise, to shift the burden of fighting upon the shoulders of a few, 
for certainly the principle that all who enjoy the benefits of democ- 

1 President Wilson's message to Congress, April 2, 1917. 



C3] 



racy shall contribute to the preservation thereof is sound. Further- 
more, volunteer enlistment was forbidden by the experience of his- 
tory. Consequently, with all this in mind, Congress, in accordance 
with plans of the War Department, passed the Selective Service Act, 
whereby every male citizen between the ages of twenty-one and 
thirty-one should, with certain necessary exceptions, be available for 
induction into military service. 

A comprehensive description of the operation of the Selective Ser- 
vice Act, the system of districts, local boards, physical examinations, 
exemptions, and courts of appeal, would be quite beyond the scope 
of this history, but the manner in which the army first "got our 
number" is of particular interest to all of us. Suffice it to say that 
on June 5, 1917, we all made out registration cards, that each regis- 
trant was given a number, that these numbers, printed on slips of 
paper, were drawn from the great glass bowl in Washington, and 
that the rotation in which they were drawn determined the order in 
which the men whom they represented should be drafted. When 
the time of our call approached we were advised by our respective 
local boards to settle our affairs, and a few days prior to the actual 
day of induction we received an imposing-looking epistle called an 
"Order of Induction into Military Service of the United States," in 
which the President of the United States bade us a cordial "Greet- 
ing" and addressed us as follows: "Having submitted yourself to a 
local board composed of your neighbors for the purpose of determin- 
ing the place and time in which you can best serve the United States 
in the present emergency, you are hereby notified that you have now 
been selected for immediate military service." After being advised 
when and where to report, we were notified by the concluding sen- 
tence of the document that "From and after the day and hour just 
named you will be a soldier in the military service of the United 
States," or, as Buddy Childs might have expressed it, "You're in the 
army from now on." 

Before proceeding to narrate how we responded to this order, and 
how we got our first free ride on the railroad, we must digress to say 
a few words about the camp to which most of us came. The plans 
of the War Department called for the building of sixteen canton- 
ments in various parts of the United States for the training of the 
army. One of these was to be situated on a plot of ground about 
9300 acres in area between Yaphank and Manor, Long Island, New 
York. The place at that time was a desolate wilderness of sand and 
scrub-oak, and famous for nothing but our great national bird, the 
mosquito. The latter became such a torment that laborers, sent there 

:43 



to construct the camp, refused to continue their work, causing a 
labor shortage which was only obviated by an increase in wage. The 
cantonment to be erected on this spot was to be known as Camp 
Upton, in honor of Major-General Emory Upton; and the division to 
be trained there was to be known as the Seventy-seventh Division, 
with Major-General J. Franklin Bell, Commander of the Department 
of the East, in command. The construction of the camp was com- 
menced on June 25, 1917, and a few days later the Long Island Rail- 
road completed a two-mile spur from the main line into camp. After 
the scrub had been thinned out and temporary roads cut through, 
some ten thousand laborers were put to work erecting the twelve 
hundred buildings of which the camp was to consist. Besides staff 
offices, storehouses, a base hospital, and infirmaries, there were to be 
one hundred and ninety-five barracks, each capable of quartering 
about two hundred and fifty men. Intensive work showed great 
fruits, and by September loth the camp was ready to receive and 
accommodate the first small increment of two thousand men. 

On August 27th, General Bell, with his staff, arrived in Camp Up- 
ton, and simultaneously the plan for the Seventy-seventh Division 
was announced. The division was to be composed of the following 
large units: 

I52d Depot Brigade 
153d Infantry Brigade 
154th Infantry Brigade 
I52d Artillery Brigade 
302d Engineers 
302d Field Signal Battalion 
Trains, and Military Police. 

The 1 52d Field Artillery Brigade was to consist of three regiments, 
the 304th, 305th, both light artillery, and the 306th, heavy field-artil- 
lery. The 306th regiment was in turn composed of six batteries, as 
follows: Batteries "A" and "B" (ist Battalion), "C" and "D" (2d 
Battalion), "E" and "F" (3d Battalion), and two companies. Supply 
and Headquarters, the medical corps being a department of the sup- 
ply company. 

During the next week junior officers who were to command the 
division kept arriving, and were assigned or attached to various 
units. 

On September 17th, Captain Fairman R. Dick was assigned as 
commanding oflicer of Battery "A." On the same day. First Lieu- 
tenant Samuel J. Reid, Jr., Second Lieutenant William A. Vollmer, 

[5] 



and Second Lieutenant Herbert J. Swenson were also assigned. Sec- 
ond Lieutenant John H. Ketcham and Second Lieutenant Walter 
Burke were attached to the battery. All of the foregoing officers 
were graduates of the Plattsburg Training Camp, August 15, 191 7, 
3d Battery, 2d Provisional Training Regiment. 

September 10, 191 7, saw the first contingent of men arrive in camp. 
It must be understood that while all of us who went to make up the 
battery did not arrive at this time, or even originally, in Camp Upton, 
a general description of the procedure by which men were withdrawn 
from their homes and sent to camp will apply in most of our individ- 
ual cases, and will serve sufficiently to recall that eventful day in our 
lives when we began our military careers. 

Summoned by the "Order of Induction" to appear at our respective 
local boards, we donned our least desirable suits of clothes and re- 
ported at the appointed hour. The assembled group of recruits was 
put under the supervision of one of their number, selected by the 
local board chairman, and this important personage was given the 
title of "district leader." Moving to the point of entrainment, we 
boarded troop trains while relatives and friends bade us good luck 
and God-speed. Arriving at Medford, the last stop before Camp 
Upton, an army officer boarded the train and called on the district 
leaders to surrender the records of the men of their groups. Upon 
detrainment at camp we were formed in double rank and answered 
roll-call. There we stood, soldiers yet still civilians, home and friends 
behind us, and before us we knew not what. Our feelings ranged 
from drunken hilarity to sober, quiet pondering. Our faces showed, 
perhaps, a mixed look of expectancy, curiosity, and concern; and, 
whether conscious of it or not, our thoughts found expression in these 
lines: 

"Oh that a man might know 
The end of this day's business ere it come, 
But it sufficeth that the day will end. 
And then the end be known." 

We were marched off over rough, uncompleted roads, thick with 
dust, around heaps of building material, over spur-tracks of the rail- 
road, past half-constructed barracks, all to the tune of carpenters' 
hammers which clattered with machine-gun-like precision. Reaching 
a nearly completed barrack, we were halted, and entering were as- 
signed our bunks. To each man was issued his first army equip- 
ment, which consisted of two olive-drab blankets, a bed-sack to 
be filled with straw, and a mess-kit. We were then introduced to 

[6: 



army "chow" in a manner which became painfully familiar to us. 
Passing along an ever tedious mess line to a counter, and armed with 
our newly acquired eating utensils, which we juggled with a diffi- 
culty born of inexperience, we made the acquaintance of army beans 
and that fluid which some demented people have called coffee. The 
cofifee-cup gave us more trouble, perhaps, than anything else, for it 
seemed to absorb all the heat of its contents. It became so hot that 
it would have blistered our lips had we attempted to drink from it. 
When it cooled off a bit we confidently grasped the handle, hoping 
to wash down a few beans, only to find, too late, that the handle 
catch was loose, and that the entire content was being swiftly dumped 
into the beans. Falling in on another line, we poured what had 
now become bean soup into a garbage can and completed our first 
mess by washing our mess-kits in soapy hot water and rinsing them 
in clear cold water. Thus endeth the first lesson. 

The day following arrival was occupied by physical examinations 
and mustering-in. As each man entered the medical barrack a num- 
ber was stamped on his bare arm — much like the branding of cattle, 
we thought — and passing into the first room, where a line of doctors 
awaited to receive him, he was thoroughly examined. Eyes, ears, 
heart, lungs, feet, throat, teeth, and other portions of the anatomy all 
received the careful consideration of the physicians. Recording the 
location of scars and other physical marks followed, and then we 
were placed in the hands — none too tender — of the vaccinating sur- 
geon, who passed us on to his partner in crime, the inoculating sur- 
geon. The inoculation was a hypodermic injection of typhoid anti- 
toxin, administered three times, with ten-day intervals. Few of 
us will forget the effects of the "needle" or the violent dislike we de- 
veloped for it. The inspectors concluded the examination by taking 
our finger prints (apparently we were to be treated like criminals) 
and, provided no physical defects were found, we were finally ac- 
cepted as fit subjects to withstand the privations of military service. 

Mustering-in, which took place immediately after the medical ex- 
amination, consisted of a general survey of the family tree and the 
opening of an individual service record. We were happy to oblige 
the army with any biographical notes, but completely lost courage 
when some tired clerk irritably and unfeelingly asked us, "Whom do 
you want notified in case you're killed?" At this time a "Qualification 
Card" was made out for each man, containing a summary of his 
ability along business and military lines — a guide to those assigning 
men to various branches of the service. 

On September 12th, the men who had arrived two days before were 

[7] 



assembled and, as their names were read out, were assigned to units. 
The battery commanders were present to act as standards around 
whom the men assigned to their commands might rally. The twelve 
men assigned to Battery "A" assembled around Captain Dick under 
the guidance of Lieutenant Reid. They were immediately gathered 
together in barrack number "P-58." Sergeant Robert L. Smith, one 
of about two hundred and fifty regular army men sent to Camp Up- 
ton, was made their acting first sergeant. 

The next contingent of men arriving from local boards, September 
2 1 St, were quartered in barrack "J-43." Thirty-three of them were 
assigned to Battery "A." The twelve men previously assigned were 
brought up to "i-43" to be quartered there. The third addition to 
the personnel of the battery consisted of nine men arriving Septem- 
ber 28th. At the close of September, 1917, the battery strength 
amounted to fifty-five enlisted men, four officers assigned, and two 
officers attached. Until October 3, 191 7, this small nucleus of the 
battery was housed in barrack "J-43." On this date we moved to a 
barrack just completed on the corner of Fourth Avenue and Sixteenth 
Street, and in that section of camp which was to be the artillery area. 
This was the final home of the battery, for we remained in this build- 
ing until our departure for Europe in the spring of 19 18. 

Our barrack was a large frame building, two stories in height. The 
entire upper floor was used as a dormitory. The lower floor was 
divided by a hallway, containing the staircase, the bulletin board, 
and a long bench over one end of which, on the wall, was fastened 
the mail-box. As one entered the hall, two doorways, one at either 
extremity, led to the left into the mess-hall, a spacious room fur- 
nished with benches and tables. At the farther end of the room was 
the serving counter, behind which were the kitchen, pantry, and 
storeroom (later burglarized now and then). Across the hall were 
the orderly, supply, and first sergeant's rooms. The remainder of the 
floor space on this side of the hallway was utilized alternately, now 
as a dormitory, now as a recreation room, the varied employment of 
the room depending on whether the medical authorities thought that 
two and a half or three feet between bunks was sneezing reach. They 
altered their opinions on this distance on two occasions, and very 
suddenly, and we suffered accordingly. It may be in point to men- 
tion the small addition made to the orderly room in the form of a 
private office for Captain Dick, for it was this mysterious holy of 
holies which did much for the discipline of the battery. The quiet 
seclusion, the cold military dignity of that room, struck terror to the 
heart of many a delinquent, and tended to keep all on the straight 

[8: 



and narrow path. Over the door of that inner temple one saw in- 
visibly written the words, "Abandon hope, all ye who enter here." 

About fifty feet from the main barrack on Fourth Avenue was a 
smaller building, the lower floor of which was used as a Battery "A" 
dormitory annex. Both barracks were lighted by electricity and 
ventilated by many sliding windows, together with ventilators run- 
ning the length of the roofs. Heat was supplied by large stoves which 
were kept burning night and day. Keeping in mind the long, cold, 
dismal fall nights in pup-tents at the front, when sleep was disturbed 
by everything ranging from rain and the cooties to the bang of guns, 
it is amusing to remember the complaints registered against the night 
guard in Upton, as, on his charitable rounds, he coaled the stoves. 
The noise disturbed our slumber, and calls of "Put that coal on with 
your hands," "Hey, get a rubber shovel!" were hurled at him. It be- 
came a source of amusement for the guard triumphantly to avenge 
himself on a few of his close friends by thoughtfully waking them to 
announce the time of night and the number of hours' sleep they had 
before reveille. The night guard was far from popular. The quar- 
ters of the battery were completed by the latrine, a small, low build- 
ing in the rear covered with black tar paper. It was divided into 
three sections, toilets of the most modern type, a wash section 
with many faucets installed over a trough with a wide board edge, 
and a shower room containing eight sprays. 

So long as we think of our army days, this home of the battery will 
ever force itself on our minds as the scene of the happiest of them 
all. With conveniences which were never even approached in Europe, 
with barracks new and always clean, with unlimited supply of fuel, 
and with a dry, clean place to eat our meals, we lived in comparative 
comfort. 

Seven months, or over one third of the life of the battery, were 
spent in Camp Upton, and for this reason, and because, too, those 
seven months represented the formation, development, and initial 
training of the organization, we shall devote considerable space to 
them. We propose to treat this important period of the battery's ex- 
istence by considering the problems which we encountered during 
that time. It must be borne in mind that the raising and mainte- 
nance of America's tremendous army was an enterprise of appalling 
complexity and magnitude, and that we, in our small way, had a 
share of the difficulties. The large majority of enlisted men who 
made up the new army were absolutely new to military service, and 
the junior officers, hastily trained to meet the emergency, could not 
be taught, in the short period of three months, all things necessary 



to their needs for the training of their commands and the proper 
organization of their units. It is a further tribute to Yankee ingenu- 
ity and perseverance that we met and mastered all difficulties, mas- 
tered them well enough, at least, to bring order out of apparent chaos, 
well enough to give us victory. Generally speaking, all of our prob- 
lems fell under a few big divisions, as follows: 

1. Housing the battery, and making the camp area habitable. 

II. Feeding the battery. 

III. Equipping the battery. 

IV. The paper work. 

V. Disciplining and training the battery, including physical 
conditioning, instilling obedience to military law and the 
orders of superiors, training in the use of weapons, smooth 
cooperation between various units of the battery, not for- 
getting the provision for recreation, so necessary to a 
soldier's development and morale. 

I. As we have already stated. Camp Upton was far from complete 
when the first contingent of recruits arrived. Roads and barracks 
were still unfinished and much of the terrain was still uncleared. Our 
first duty was to devote at least a part of our time in assisting the 
civilian employees of the Government to thin out the scrub-oak and 
to pull stumps. This work was handled at first by regularly appointed 
details comprised of almost the entire battery, and later by men 
under punishment, these latter being familiarly known as "the chain 
gang." Roads were repaired and work commenced on clearing a 
large area to be eventually used as the 306th Field Artillery parade- 
ground. This task we never completed, however, for at the time 
when it was scheduled to be ready we were on parade in France with 
Fritz in the van. Additional carpentry work on our part made the 
barracks more comfortable, and we shall never disparage the talents 
of our masons for their building of the garbage incinerator. By their 
beautiful masonic creation in the rear of the barrack they gave Bat- 
tery "A" first place in the regiment for sanitation. 

In order to make our quarters safe against fire, wooden ladders 
were erected on the outer front wall of the building. Outside was built 
a small shed in which was kept a small hose reel mounted on an axle 
and wheels. An order to the effect that one battery in each regiment 
be appointed to the task of fire patrol was responsible for our leaping 
into fame as the 'Tire Battery." Instantly the slogan " 'A' Battery 
is the Fire Battery" was added to our long list of calls. Although we 
responded to several alarms, there are three which stand out most 




Tf)r-z<i 






of ^P^°0 




7^e sj/'c/e ^oof^ ^u//mdr}S ^ ^r>ts.t. 



vividly. One was tlie call at i a.m. to a small blaze in the orderly 
room of Battery "A," 305th Field Artillery. Resenting rude dis- 
turbance at such an hour, we nevertheless responded, only to find 
that the fire had been extinguished before our arrival. Sanchez found 
such particular discomfort in arising that, forgetting his newly 
acquired military vocabulary, he expressed his highly incensed feel- 
ings by merely remarking, "I am so sleepy." Another fire, a more 
formidable affair, occurred when the infirmary of the 305th Field 
Artillery nearly burned down. We were at noon mess at the time, 
but dropped mess-kits and all else to answer the call. The day was 
extremely cold and the thorough drenching many of us received 
while fighting the flames made us feel that we were surely earning 
our free board and lodging. The third fire was at the far end of the 
camp, and tired as we were from a long afternoon hike, we must 
needs race away down the road, trailing our miniature fire-engine 
behind us. 

II. The problem of feeding the battery was entrusted to Lieuten- 
ant Burke and Frank Waring (acting mess sergeant). Cooking food 
in large quantities to feed so many men, was in itself an art at that 
time unmastered by any enlisted man. Civilian cooks were employed, 
chief of whom was Gross. It is a sad commentary upon our woe- 
fully deficient knowledge of our rights under military law, yet at the 
same time it speaks well for our desire to attain soldierly obedience, 
that we submitted to violent abuse and peremptory orders from a 
civilian chef. In later days, armed as we were with a knowledge of 
these rights, Gross' actions would undoubtedly have endangered his 
bodily safety. Enlisted men were assigned as understudies to our 
civilian cooks, and later took up their tasks when the latter were 
removed. Throughout the battery's existence cooks came and went. 

The executive side of the mess was administered by Frank War- 
ing, whose duties, upon his departure for an ordnance school in the 
west, were taken up by Henry Mueller, who continued in the capac- 
ity of mess sergeant until just before we left Upton, when, at his own 
solicitation, he was removed to the line, to be replaced by Herbert 
Flatau. The best criterion of Mueller's management of the mess is 
found in the fact that during the Argonne campaign, when it became 
necessary to remove Flatau and when the mess question was giving 
endless but nevertheless just cause for universal complaint, Mueller 
was hopefully appealed to by the entire battery to return to his 
former duties. 

In reviewing the problems of the mess we find that two difficulties 
contributed to the tediousness of the task. The first was due to the 

CO 



fact that seventeen cents was the ration allowance for each man per 
day. If that allowance was overstepped at any time, it meant short 
rations later on. But on the other hand, any unused portion was 
convertible into cash, and was placed to the account of the battery 
in the battery fund. Coming from civil life, with all its luxuries, we 
thought seventeen cents all too insufficient for a day's fodder, but it 
was demonstrated to be more than enough if skilfully and wisely 
disbursed. Let it ever stand to the credit of Mueller that he fed the 
battery well yet economically, and with a keen eye to that day in 
France when a battery fund would complement poor rations and buy 
a few small luxuries so woefully scarce. Despite our vehement pro- 
tests, he steadfastly maintained his miserly policy toward us, and our 
thanklessness later turned to gratitude. The paper work, new to the 
mess sergeant, was complex to an exasperating degree, but down to 
the last fraction the work was carried out with conscientious appli- 
cation. 

When the Quartermaster's Department delivered fresh beef, we 
Vv'ere entitled to one forequarter of beef and one hindquarter, the 
latter being more desirable because it was more meaty. Often the 
quartermaster delivered two forequarters, and Mueller went to every 
authority save the Major-General, with the inevitable result that the 
quartermaster settled the difficulty by delivering two hindquarters 
the following day. To illustrate further his efficiency and discipline 
we cite another incident. Due to our throwing whole slices of un- 
eaten bread into the incinerator, because at the serving our eyes were 
larger than our stomachs, Mueller began cutting the slices in half and 
feeding them to us as our appetites demanded. Then, at last, we 
knew that he was a painful success. 

Consider the task of preventing a continual round of the standard 
edibles — stew, beans, canned corned willy, potatoes, oatmeal, rice, 
prunes, and dried apricots — from causing mutiny among recruits, and 
you have in a nutshell another phase of the mess problem. Suffice it 
to say that we ate as well as the quality and quantity of our supplies 
would permit. However, when Captain Dick, often to test the qual- 
ity of the food, came to the mess line, was served, and retired to the 
inner recesses of the orderly room to partake thereof, "we still main- 
tain," to employ Gelbach's phrase, that he threw it out of the window, 
at the same time shedding bitter tears of official sympathy for us. 

111. The declaration of war, with the equipping and maintenance 
of our tremendous army, made a sudden and pressing demand on the 
industries of the country with which they desperately, and at first 
with slow progress, strove to wrestle. Nowhere was this condition 



more evident than in the equipment of the battery with uniforms 
and other military accoutrements. Upon the entrance into the ser- 
vice of the first few thousand there was sufficient equipment to supply 
every man with one olive-drab uniform, one suit of underwear, one 
pair of socks, one each of service hat, overcoat, and slicker, one pair 
of gloves, one pair of tan dress shoes, and one pair of hob-nailed field 
shoes, known more familiarly as hikers. The men were usually 
measured on the day of their arrival, and received their uniform one 
week later. As with many of our other problems, inexperience on 
the part of both officers and men played havoc with the possibilities 
of efficiency, for we were totally ignorant of a proper method of keep- 
ing our clerical records, and knew little or nothing about equipment, 
except that it was khaki and that each man was supposed to own a 
lot more of it than was provided. Mueller, at the outset, was acting as 
supply sergeant, and fulfilled his duties with great ability. On being 
transferred to the management of the mess, he was succeeded by 
Gray, who did exceptionally good work. 

As the number of incoming recruits increased, a corresponding 
demand for equipment gave the supply sergeant a deal of worry. 
Then, too, we have it on sound authority that the physical size of 
the men making up the new army averaged larger proportions than 
the men of the old army. The sizes of clothes ran too small for 
many of the larger men, and as a result the latter had to wait until 
the proper sizes of equipment could be specially requisitioned. All 
this meant delay and unending labor. When Jim Murphy stepped 
up to be outfitted, he passed each equipment table containing blouses, 
breeches, overcoats, hats, etc., receiving the same answer at each 
— "Haven't got that size." Finally emerging, his total initial 
army equipment consisted of extra shoe-laces, identification tags, 
and a yard of tape. His was far from being the only case of 
its kind. And what is more, this was as late as December, over 
eight months after the declaration of war. About this time the 
shoes of the first recruits began to wear out, and more trouble 
arose in getting them new ones. A system of sending shoes away 
to be repaired was established, but it was four weeks or more 
before they were returned. The system, a happy one in its conception, 
became hopelessly tangled, and men were apt to receive other shoes 
than those they had sent away, a misfortune which resulted in pain- 
ful attempts to wear boots which conformed to the bulging bunions of 
other feet. All this time new men were coming into the battery, merely 
to be equipped by us at the expense of great time and energy andtrans- 
f erred to other outfits almost immediately. It was not until early in 



19 18 that we received our extra olive-drab uniforms and new shoes. 
About the same time field equipment, consisting of pack carrier, 
shelter tent, condiment and bacon cans, were issued. 

IV. Army paper work, with all its maddening intricacies, pre- 
sented another problem demanding patient industry and exactness. 
Orders, correspondence, and memoranda of various kinds had to be 
classified and filed for constant future reference. Rosters, pay-rolls, 
muster-rolls, surveys, and a dozen similar reports had to be made out 
regularly. Likewise it was necessary to devise a system by which all 
of this work could be carried on with the least possible friction and 
the greatest expedition. Here again, the unfamiliarity of new men 
with complex military forms called for tremendous effort and long 
hours of application on the part of those appointed to the task. 
Captain Dick, while never in the slightest neglecting the field-work 
of the battery, concentrated the greater part of his time and energy 
on this phase of the battery work. Seeking out and testing the qual- 
ity of many of the enlisted men for the position of battery clerk, the 
position finally was given to Baecker. With great patience, and by 
hours of work sometimes stretching far into the nights, Baecker 
guided and shaped the clerical afi'airs of the battery until there was 
finally devised a system of paper work which remained the model 
throughout our existence as a military unit. Approaching each new 
problem with only general model specimens, if any, of the matter in 
hand, he worked out model forms applicable to the battery's needs. 
The first pay-roll, first muster-roll, and many other first reports 
worked out by the captain and Baecker were guides thereafter. Aside 
from the captain, Baecker was the only man in the battery office who 
had a thorough and comprehensive knowledge of this particular 
work. During the captain's three months' absence in Fort Sill, the 
vast bulk of the work rested squarely on Baecker's shoulders. He 
was succeeded by Dunkak, who, from his arrival at Upton, was 
trained as a battery clerk, retaining that position until our demobili- 
zation. The splendid up-to-the-minute condition of his records at all 
inspections in Europe stands as a significant tribute to the manner in 
which he accomplished his task. 

V. All of the phases reviewed above were of extreme importance 
in the development of the battery, and it would be an improper omis- 
sion to leave them undiscussed, however uninteresting they may be 
to those of us who were not directly concerned with them. However, 
our greater interest, our hours of happiness and tedious work, enthu- 
siasm and depression, hopes and misgivings, centered almost entirely 
around that part of our life at Upton which pertained to training and 



disciplining the personnel. We are not disregarding the other im- 
portant spheres of work when we say that this was the most vital of 
them all and the one to which we must devote more pages, since on 
its character, both at Upton and Camp de Souge, depended our fail- 
ure or success as a fighting unit on the Lorraine, the Vesle, and the 
Argonne fronts. 

In the review of our accomplishments under this general division 
of our problems let us keep in mind the three outstanding difficulties 
which confronted us: first, our own colossal ignorance of all military 
matters; second, the lack of ordnance and other field materiel com- 
mensurate with our requirements; and third, the inexperience of the 
officers. Of the three, the first looms up most prominently. We are 
free to admit, indeed proud to state, that at the time of our induction 
we knew little, most of us nothing, of military discipline and the 
duties of a soldier. We were accustomed to absolute freedom of 
mind and deed, decidedly unaccustomed to dictatorial treatment at 
the hands of men who democracy had taught us to believe were no 
better than ourselves. To turn such independence into obedience and 
to supplant utter ignorance with a knowledge of the exacting require- 
ments of military life, were the tasks confronting our officers. That 
they succeeded, we hope may be shown by this book, but we are 
happy to think that they never succeeded — if they ever planned to — 
in converting us into that type of perfect soldier prescribed by mili- 
tary regulations, an individual without individuality, a mere mechan- 
ism manipulated by pushing the right button. To the last, the men 
of the National Army were American fighters, not Prussian soldiers. 

As for the materiel with which to train us, it was so woefully in- 
adequate that the most optimistic might well have quailed in appre- 
hension. Without sufficient guns, rifles, gas-masks, or artillery in- 
struments, it seemed impossible that we could learn enough to take 
our stand against veteran troops. Indeed, it was not until we went 
in for intensive training at Camp de Souge, that we gained a real in- 
sight into the nature of our work, though our experiences at Upton 
gave us a necessary foundation in discipline, drill, and military 
etiquette. 

The inexperience of officers was a circumstance of tremendous 
significance. The fact that we used to call them "ninety-day won- 
ders" indicates our attitude toward them at the time. It is a temp- 
tation to exaggerate their inexperience just as it is a temptation to 
overrate many of their accomplishments. It may be said, however, 
that they were hastily trained, and trained in American methods of 
warfare which, in many cases, proved of little use in camp and of 

['53 



no use on the battle line. Perhaps the majority of junior officers in 
the National Army were young men fresh from college, or even with 
unfinished education. Some were less experienced in the ways of life 
than many of the men whom they commanded. In fact, they were 
men whose enthusiasm and spirit far outran their military learning 
and, at times, their powers of discretion. It is casting no aspersion 
on their characters or abilities to say so. It is merely another re- 
flection on America's unpreparedness. Let it be said that Battery 
"A" fortunately began its career under the supervision of officers who 
were mature in judgment and capable of mastering in a most credit- 
able way the problems which beset them; yet it will always be a 
source of amusement to remember the numerous occasions, from the 
first dismounted drills in Upton to the instruction in Butt's "Manual 
of Arms" in Noyon, France, when our instructors stood, book in 
hand, referring to printed pages for information which their knowl- 
edge could not supply them. 

Truly, these difficulties presented a situation which aflforded little 
encouragement, and now, as we follow more or less chronologically 
the development of the battery, splendid efforts and splendid results 
are revealed, which must ever be a source of pride to the enlisted men 
and to the officers who led them. 

On September 29, 19 17, the first step in training was taken in the 
form of instruction in close order drill, A number of men were on 
detail, leaving about thirty men clad in civilian attire to answer the 
call. Captain Dick marched the men out to one of the uncompleted 
camp roads about a quarter of a mile from the barracks, and, without 
use of military commands, arranged them in double rank. Lined be- 
fore him there were men representing many walks of life, from the 
farm, the factory, offices, college lecture halls, and professions, now 
mere recruits waiting to receive the first lesson in the new game they 
had entered. 

Who of us present at that moment will ever forget the captain's 
maiden speech to Battery "A"? He touched briefly on the purpose 
of our being there, marshaling such reasons as whipping the Germans, 
defending our national honor, and squaring the Lusitania account; 
but from the point of view which we entertained in those days, he 
failed to mention the most compelling reason, namely, the "Order of 
Induction." He finished by telling us of the "terrible" Canadian 
losses, and he wanted to "emphasize" that "they lost — they lost 
heavily — they lost because they didn't have discipline — we must 
have discipline." This speech was delivered with the natural rising 
inflection of his voice toward the end of each sentence, short or long, 




H.T.ri;Slc 1921 



Ho^te^^ Hcr\i;s;e , da>5/-ri3^]>jt . C2aTx.-p Uptoi\L.I 



with a snapping out of the last word. A short period of instruction 
in the simple drill movements such as right, left, and about face, 
terminated the morning session. During the afternoon we were divided 
into squads, and as certain men were appointed as squad leaders 
buttons began to fly off blouse fronts as chests swelled under the an- 
ticipation of a set of stripes. Another lecture ended the afternoon 
session. This lecture, the first of a long series on the subject, was 
devoted to profound declarations about saluting, its value and ne- 
cessity, and how to render it so that the officer receiving it would 
"jump." Then and there the captain made us understand that the 
fate of the Nation, together with the balance of power in Europe, 
hung on our ability to render a correct salute. We now recall how 
the battery ofttimes thereafter was taken to some side road or drill 
field to practice the subtle, angular art of saluting. We started from 
a position of "At ease," with feet spread apart. Then the command 
"Attention" — "Hand," at which the right hand was raised to saluting 
position, "Salute," and the hand was snapped down. This was fol- 
lowed by the command "At ease." With clocklike regularity the 
drill was repeated over and over again, and with great solemnity, as 
though the Nation's salvation depended upon it. 

From September 24th to October 22d, the work of the battery was 
concentrated on close order drill and physical exercise. As men were 
transferred to or from the battery, the personnel of the organization 
changed often. Only the most important changes are mentioned in 
this writing. By virtue of new arrivals on September 28th and Oc- 
tober 8th, the number of enlisted men increased to 194. Permanent 
squads with acting squad leaders and section chiefs were formed. 
McKeever and Marriner were officially appointed acting corporals 
with the captain's awful warning that they were to be "obeyed and 
respected accordingly." A system of bugle-calls was instituted with 
first call at 6 a.m. and taps at 10 p.m. Sergeant Smith, the first top- 
sergeant of the battery, with deliberate intention went A. W. O. L. to 
be "busted" and sent back to his outfit in the Regular Army, punish- 
ment inflicted at the hands of a Summary Court. Despite McKeever's 
aspiration to the position, Ardiff v/as made top-sergeant. On Oc- 
tober 21st, Corporal Chester B. Armour, First-class Private George P. 
Gray, and Zollinger were transferred to us from the Regular Army 
Coast Artillery at Fort Greble, Rhode Island. A War Department 
order at this time forbade the making of any non-commissioned of- 
ficers from the National Army ranks until after November i, 19 17. 
Armour was consequently transferred to us to be first sergeant, Gray 
as supply sergeant, and Zollinger as a line sergeant. In compliance 

[i8n 



with this order, Ardiff was removed in favor of Armour, only to be 
reappointed nine days later, he being the captain's choice for that 
place, any order of the War Department to the contrary notwith- 
standing. Although reluctant to remove Mueller, the captain had no 
alternative under the above-mentioned order but to make Gray sup- 
ply sergeant. Gray was allowed just twenty-four hours to master the 
supply system or give way to Mueller again on the first of November. 
Although inexperienced in this kind of work, and facing a task al- 
most impossible to grasp in so short a time. Gray labored fast and 
hard, and with Mueller's assistance he succeeded. He remained as 
supply sergeant until he was removed to the hospital from the 
Leviathan upon docking at Brest. 

November ist witnessed the first official appointments of non- 
commissioned officers. Captain Dick wisely delayed the appointment 
of non-commissioned officers. His opinion on the subject was that of 
an eminent German military writer, who once said that non-commis- 
sioned officers were the backbone of any military organization. Ger- 
mans, however, have been proved in the wrong on more than one 
question lately, and probably the majority of us would justly insist 
that, if any one rank could claim to be the mainstay of an army, the 
honor would fall to the buck private. With few exceptions, the 
enlisted men at that time had not enough of the rudimentary knowl- 
edge of military drill to permit them to be of much assistance 
as non-commissioned officers. Consequently the captain waited, 
ever observing and studying. He endeavored always to avoid 
the error of hasty and improper selections which would cause 
the organization to suffer or compel the reduction of any whom 
he had appointed. Whatever criticism can be made of his other 
policies, now looking back with a knowledge gleaned from experi- 
ence, we are happy to acknowledge that his attitude toward his 
non-commissioned officers seems almost perfect. Painstakingly 
he instructed them in their duties, never driving them into 
the hands of those whom they commanded by reproving them 
in public, and never robbing them of their necessary self-confidence 
and self-assertiveness by threatening them with reduction — a last 
resort with him, and one which he was never compelled to employ. 
In short, he promoted a man and then backed that man and his 
actions to the limit. He instilled a pride in the stripes by formally 
presenting the warrants at a battery formation to each new non-com- 
missioned officer individually, and in a speech to the battery as a 
whole at that time he stated, "A non-commissioned officer's order is 
mine — in my absence he stands in my stead — he must be respected 



and obeyed." Such conduct as this drew for him the instant co- 
operation of his non-coms, and, after his promotion and withdrawal 
from the battery, his policy was recognized with approval by both 
non-coms and privates. 

On October 22, 191 7, the battery embarked on a period of intensive 
training which lasted sixteen weeks. A plan was laid down, definitely 
indicating the lines along which the battery was to be developed. The 
organization was to be divided into three large groups, known as the 
special detail, cannoneers, and mechanics. The entire battery was 
to receive physical training in the morning and an hour of close order 
drill each day. For the remainder of the day the men were divided 
into the groups above named and trained in the special functions of 
the group to which they belonged. 

The special detail, ever since its creation ironically referred to as 
the "Brains of the Battery," and composed of certain men selected 
for their particular qualifications, were trained in visual signaling, 
the use of the field signal-buzzer, installation and operation of 
telephones, panoramic sketching, map-drawing, manipulation of fire- 
control instruments, and general liaison work. Flags rudely made 
with sticks and pieces of cloth were used for the instruction in visual 
signaling. Men were taught the semaphore alphabet, and then prac- 
tised its use among themselves. Sometimes, especially in the winter, 
the signaling was done from one end of the upper fioor of the main 
barrack to the other. As spring approached, the work was carried to 
the drill ground between the barracks, to Smith's Field, or to the hill 
back of the re-mount station. In the main the work was dull and 
only a few men ever attained great proficiency in it. 

The "buzzer class" offered a splendid opportunity for sleep. 
"Buzzer class in the lower squad room," was the form the summons 
took. Regulation field buzzers were not received until early spring, 
and in their absence ordinary push-button electric bells, encased in 
small wooden boxes, were employed. We spent many hours lolling in 
arm-chairs around the large stove, translating scattered sentences from 
popular magazines into the Morse code, while a partner in practice 
endeavored to read the message. Often a sentence was taken from a 
particularly interesting story which resulted in far more attention 
being paid to the story than to the buzzer. As in visual signaling, 
there were few men who applied themselves sufficiently to become 
proficient. When the regulation field buzzers arrived, much time 
v/as spent in experimenting with the instruments, to give the men a 
knowledge of testing and repairing them. 

Telephone instruction consisted of stringing wires all through the 



barrack, around posts, up and down the staircases, through windows, 
and through holes drilled in the walls. Conversations from floor to 
floor, main barrack, and annex, were carried on. 

Panoramic sketching from a terrain board or the surrounding 
country, and map-reading and -making gave us a hazy idea of that 
work, but no more. 

The cannoneers were instructed in standing gun drill on American 
three-inch pieces, but never actually fired them, although they went 
to the range to watch the 305th Field Artillery fire. Under Lieutenant 
Ketcham and Lieutenant Burke the duties of cannoneers in the opera- 
tion of the three-inch piece were explained, and during December we 
received two three-inch pieces with caissons, with which to display 
our newly acquired knowledge. Standing gun drill and simulated fir- 
ing occupied us for a few weeks, when the pieces were taken away to 
be used at the new Officers' Training School established at the camp. 
It was during this work on the guns that the battery sustained its 
first casualty, Bernstein having the top of one of his fingers cut off 
when he inadvertently got his finger in the breech recess as the breech 
block swung closed. The whole regiment received four three-inch 
pieces of a most antiquated model, and we promptly dubbed them 
the "pre-Revolutionary War guns." All four guns were consigned to 
each battery one day a week. On the days when the guns were in 
other hands, standing gun drill was conducted by means of four 
planks laid on the ground to represent the wheels, muzzle, and trail 
of the gun. The system of American commands was used, range 
being given in yards, site in degrees on the quadrant, and deflection 
in mills. No explosives were ever handled at Upton, and the only 
real benefit the cannoneers received from their training there, was a 
slight inkling of how a gun crew was formed, how it functioned on a 
drill field, and the manner in which indirect fire was conducted. 

Curiosity may be aroused as to why the third division of the bat- 
tery, the mechanics — consisting at that time of almost one half of 
the total battery strength — was later reduced to the small group of 
three men who served as our mechanics during action. That is read- 
ily explained by the fact that we were originally intended to be a 
motorized outfit in which a large number of men would be needed to 
manipulate tractors, motor-cars, and cycles, beside superintending 
the construction of gun-pits and large dugouts. The training of the 
mechanics was conducted along these lines. 

Instruction in the theory and handling of motors was derived from 
overhauling and assembling the motor in the captain's Ford. Later 
an Oldsmobile car was sent to the battery to be cleaned and repaired, 



an object which afforded the mechanics further opportunity for pro- 
found research and experiment. The work was carried on under the 
direction of Waring, as chief mechanic. The classes consisted chiefly 
of hot disputes among Waring, Rubin, Estrominsky, and Schild- 
knecht over each other's mechanical knowledge. Always, motor parts 
were found scattered in practically every part of the barrack, and it 
was an inevitable occurrence that, once assembled, the motor had to 
be immediately overhauled because some part had not been inserted, 
or because a missing tool had been left in a cylinder. An actual illus- 
tration of the latter occurred when a small screw-driver was recov- 
ered from inside the engine. 

After theoretical instruction in the digging of gun emplacements 
and underground galleries had been given by Lieutenant Vollmer, 
practical experience took the form of the construction of a gun-pit 
sunk five feet below the ground level with a gallery twenty-five feet 
underground. Work was commenced in November in the wooded 
country adjoining the camp. The first preparations alone indicated 
that the child of our labors would far eclipse the proportions and 
beauty of Solomon's temple. A large pit was dug and huge trees 
were hewn down, out of which logs were cut twelve to sixteen inches 
in diameter. These were to be the inside facing of the walls. The 
exhausting work of hauling logs soon sapped any interest we might 
have had at the outset, and our enthusiasm was further chilled when 
the ground froze, causing our pickaxes to bound off the earth with- 
out leaving a scratch. Finally the weather became so intensely cold 
that the work was abandoned. 

A brief summary of the other more important phases of our de- 
velopment will serve to close the review of our training in the art of 
war as pursued at Upton. 

Non-commissioned officers' school was conducted in drill manual, 
in map-reading and map-making, and in principles of fire. 

Patrol and scout duty was practised and, after theoretical instruc- 
tion in the use of the compass and in woodcraft, patrols were es- 
tablished. But they degenerated into nothing more than wild games 
of hare and hound, pursued without the slightest regard for military 
regulations. 

Small-arms firing was taken up after we were equipped with 
rifles, which, with the exception of some twenty old Krag rifles, 
was not until early spring, when the new Winchester rifles arrived. 
These were replaced by Eddystone rifles, a few weeks prior to our 
departure overseas. Our first duty was to clean the rifles of heavy 
cosmoline, this occupying us for several afternoons in the lower mess- 



hall, when we diligently transferred the cosmoline from the rifles to 
our uniforms. Drill in sighting and aiming at bull's-eyes at the end 
of the room (not forgetting the famous "trigger-squeeze") prepared 
us for work on the range. The night before the days on the range 
we practised simulated firing. Cartridges, with the explosive and 
primers extracted, were used. We lay on the tables in the mess-hall 
and went through the drill of loading, sighting, aiming, squeezing the 
trigger, and extracting the empty cartridge. We practised slow and 
rapid fire. The actual firing on the range brought splendid results, 
the battery as a whole firing exceptionally well for novices, sub- 
stantiating Roosevelt's assertion that an American is born a good 
shot. 

Bayonet drill is something we shall not soon forget. "On guard," 
"Short thrust," "Withdraw," "Long thrust," "Butt strike," are com- 
mands which produce a smile. Nor can we forget Lieutenant Voll- 
mer urging us to look more fierce as we thrust the bayonet at an 
imaginary opponent, nor the wild dashes in platoon front across open 
lots, yelling, in compliance with our instruction, like Cherokee 
Indians. 

If we were only to mention a few of Mourges' commands, such as 
"For protection only," "Clean your right eyepiece," "Press out for 
gas," "Don't dribble through your mouthpiece," "Give your name, 
rank, and organ-eye-zation," "Right o'black," they would serve to 
recall our training in gas defense. The importance of gas defense 
was appreciated to its fullest extent, and the training was intensive 
to a very high degree. The facilities for training were limited to 
twelve gas-masks. The battery was divided into small groups, which 
alternated in the use of the masks. The drill consisted in an inspec- 
tion to test the mask for imperfections, drill in rapid adjustment, and 
dismounted drill with the mask adjusted over the face, all of which 
was supplemented by lectures on first aid in case of our being gassed. 
The drill was repulsive because, with such a limited number of masks, 
we were compelled to put in our mouths the mouthpieces which had 
been used by others, an unsanitary and most unpleasant feature 
which we vainly attempted to mitigate by washing the mouthpieces 
in a nauseating solution of creosote. Mourges was a first-class task- 
master, but drilled over-hard and over-long, to the extent of display- 
ing bad judgment. On the other hand, the gas-defense training was 
perhaps the most productive of all our work at Upton. The rudi- 
ments so thoroughly instilled into us there were never forgotten, and 
made the later training in that work under Bernstein at Camp de 
Souge very simple. 



In anticipation of our possibly becoming a horse-drawn instead 
of a motor-drawn battery (which, as we know, proved to be the 
case), a course in equitation was given us. Due to the total lack of 
horses, wooden substitutes were used. These were built by the men, 
and consisted of long, hollow, wooden cylinders mounted on four 
sticks. Small pegs fastened on the top of the cylinders served to 
designate the pommel and cantle of the saddle. Under the tutelage 
of Lieutenant Burke, we executed the commands "Stand to horse," 
"Prepare to mount," and "Mount." The last command was partic- 
ularly difficult to execute, for some of the horses were built higher 
than others, and since none of them had stirrups or saddles, consider- 
able discomfort was experienced by the uninitiated, who jumped high 
and fell heavily in the hard, wooden seats. Other movements of the 
cavalry drill were practised, as "Low reach," "About face," etc. With 
so much other simulated work going on for lack of proper facilities, 
it is a matter for self-congratulation that we were not compelled to 
groom imaginary manes and polish imaginary hoofs by the numbers. 

There was a great deal of such mock procedure, and it all appeared 
futile and ridiculous, yet simulation of one sort or another was 
merely making the best of an unfortunate situation. What is more 
important, it kept us busily preoccupied with other thoughts than 
those of home and Broadway. 

All this training, or attempt at training, along special lines was sup- 
plemented by close order drill and physical exercise, conducted for 
one hour each morning under Lieutenant Swenson. What contrib- 
uted more than anything else to the physical conditioning of the men, 
were the long afternoon hikes in the invigorating air of the country. 
How well we remember Lieutenant Reid speeding along in tireless 
fashion, leading us up and down hills, never slackening the pace, and 
bringing us back to the barrack perspiring and with legs aching from 
what usually amounted to a five-mile trip. 

One day of every week was set aside for an all-day hike, with in- 
struction in castrametation. The latter consisted in pitching tents, 
mounting guard, preparing food on the field range, and policing the 
camp area. The one outstanding event in this connection was the 
Shoreham hike, which forever after was the criterion of all battery 
marches. With full equipment, including the blankets rolled and 
carried over the shoulder and around the body similar to pictures of 
Sherman's troops on their march to the sea, the battery departed at 
8 A.M. Most of the twelve miles to Shoreham were made in the rain. 
The rations for the mess were carried in the captain's "flivver." 
Arriving at 1 1.30 a.m., camp was made on the beach and mess cooked 

[243 



and eaten in a downpour of rain. The mess consisted of dam 
chowder, baked beans, bread, and coffee. Our portions of clam 
chowder were visibly increased and noticeably diluted by rain-water, 
shed from our service hats as we nodded our heads in endeavors to 
drink. Early in the afternoon the return hike was commenced and 
the battery, splashing through mud and water, yet singing with great 
spirit, arrived at the barrack at 5.30 p.m. 

Oh, Captain Dick of Battery "A," 

He had two hundred men. 
He marched them up to the top of a hill. 

And marched them down again; 
And when they were up they were up, 

And when they were down they were down. 
And when they were only halfway up. 

They were neither up nor down. 

While we go marching 

And the band begins to P-L-A-Y, 
You can hear them shouting, 
'The boys of Battery 'A' 

Are on a hike again to-day!" 

The dull, monotonous moments of our lives at Upton were con- 
fined chiefly to the hours of training. Once those hours were passed, 
life was more enjoyable. It has been previously mentioned that the 
lower squad room served alternately in the capacity of a dormitory 
and a recreation room. The battery bought a pool table, hired a 
piano, purchased chess and checker sets, and these, with a small 
library of books and magazines, afforded many pleasant hours. On 
two occasions the medical authorities decided that the space be- 
tween bunks must be widened, and accordingly our recreation room 
was needed as a dormitory for the excess number of bunks excluded 
from the other barrack rooms. When this occurred, the pool table 
had to be put in one corner, rendering it useless, and the piano moved 
to the mess-hall. Added to our facilities for enjoyment was the 
Y. M. C. A., with writing-tables and moving-picture shows. And the 
erection of the Hostess House across the street opened another fa- 
vorite rendezvous with its comfortable easy-chairs, rugs on the floor, 
reading matter, and a canteen where much delightful and dainty food 
afforded relief from the unpalatable army fare. Entertainments 
were conducted in our own mess-hall on many occasions, giving 
Buddy Childs, Jim Barnes, and others opportunities to display their 
vocal talents. 

[25] 



Perhaps the most important factor which contributed to our rec- 
reation was the week-end pass to New York City. Due to the ever 
increasing size of the division and the limited transportation facili- 
ties, the pass privilege was restricted to a very small percentage of 
each unit in the camp. At first the fortunate ones were entitled to go in 
on any available train. However, great minds ran in the same channel, 
and the entire crowd rushed headlong for the first train, causing many 
stampedes, in one of which a colonel was knocked off his horse. The 
system of designating on the face of the pass certain trains for de- 
parture and return was instituted (we suspect at the instigation of the 
outraged colonel). Men were gathered into regimental units, in- 
spected for cleanliness of uniform and other equipment, and carefully 
scrutinized to insure their having on the white stock collar. They 
were then marched off by an officer to the terminal, and boarded the 
train in an orderly fashion. An entire chapter could easily be de- 
voted to this subject of passes, with all its virtues, faults, joys, 
sorrows, and injustices. 

The general principle was to grant passes by roster. The plan was 
apparently the only equitable way of managing the matter, yet it 
proved to be a poor one in operation, for hopes were justly raised, 
only to be dashed down when the inevitable duty and guard rosters 
happened to interfere. The judgments of the officer in charge and of 
the first sergeant were subjected to bitter criticism by those who 
suffered. Many thought there was a powerful oligarchy in the bat- 
tery, and perhaps rightly, for certainly there was a favored 
coterie of non-commissioned officers who seemed to monopolize 
the passes. Then, too, there arose the complication of giving 
passes to men who could supply their own transportation in the form 
of automobiles, owned or hired. The use of public buses running to 
and from New York came into being, and many a weird story can 
be told of the joy-rides we had in utilizing them. 

With all its mistakes and all the trouble it fomented, we can look 
on the pass question as one of those many affairs of army life which 
often tried our hearts and tempers, but which, nevertheless, served 
us happily many times, and afforded a distinct relief from the drag 
of camp. Though many men were not fortunate enough to get to 
New York regularly, there was one consolation — which we never had 
in foreign service — in the fact that Camp Upton's close proximity to 
the city enabled friends and relatives to visit us on Saturdays and 
Sundays. 

The discussion of our problems and the manner of meeting them 
gives only a general insight into our life at Camp Upton, and leaves 

[26] 



untouched many occasions and many circumstances which the reader 
must recall for himself. Our book, however, would be most unsatis- 
fying if it did not cite a few of the more memorable events which can- 
not well be classified under the headings of our problems, but which 
we are loathe to leave unmentioned. 

On November 8th, to the disgust and disappointment of the entire 
battery and the infinite wrath of the supply sergeant and ofllce force, 
Battery "A" was torn asunder by the transfer of one hundred of its 
men to the 82d Division, Camp Gordon, Georgia. Lieutenant Reid 
was temporarily detached to conduct them, together with four hun- 
dred others from divers units in the camp, on their distasteful ex- 
cursion to balmier climes. This occasion witnessed the introduction 
of the blue cloth barrack bag. Thereafter an issue of "blue bags" to 
the supply sergeant caused abnormal palpitations of the heart, whis- 
pered rumors as to what men might expect deportation, and subtle 
schemes for going A. W. O. L. to escape the hateful transfer. A few 
dollars as a fine, a few greasy days in the kitchen, or a week of hard 
labor with the chain-gang as punishment for the A. W. O. L. — what 
were these compared to the horrible torture of being banished far 
from Broadway's dazzling lights? 

Second Lieutenant William C. Armstrong was attached to the 
battery on November 20, 191 7. Lieutenant Armstrong's strong points 
were platoon drill, manual of the pistol, and working in conjunction 
with Lieutenant Vollmer on bayonet practice. He is to be pardoned 
for all but the manner in which he kept our hearts in a flutter by 
flashing his Colt automatic in the air during instruction. All was 
well until, one day, he produced three cartridges. We spent many 
an anxious minute while he loaded and unloaded the weapon. He 
absolutely guaranteed that a shot from the gun would pass through 
fifteen feet of reinforced concrete and never would the gun jam. We 
learned differently. 

December 9, 191 7, was to us a Day of Redemption. A kind of 
sabbatical period set in. Captain Dick was sent on three months' 
detached service to the School of Fire at Fort Sill, Oklahoma. Lieu- 
tenant Reid was to act as battery commander during his absence. The 
captain was too exacting a disciplinarian to be endured for more than 
a few consecutive months. He had a weakness for keeping us stand- 
ing at strict attention on the inspection line Saturday mornings, not 
allowing us even to blink an eyelid. He had no compunctions for 
canceling our names, already on the pass list, for finding a speck of 
dirt in a rifle bore, unwashed leggings, or unpolished shoes. In con- 
sequence of this, we invariably spent Friday nights in the wash- 

[27] 



house, getting our equipment immaculately clean and blaspheming 
the captain as we scrubbed. Most certainly at Saturday inspection 
it was woe unto him who was not fully prepared at the snarling, 
blood-curdling command, "0-p-e-n R-a-n-k-s, M-a-r-c-h." And the 
indoor inspection at our bunks was just as difficult a test. Blankets 
had to be folded in perfect accordance with the diagram posted on 
the bulletin board in the lower hall; the mess gear had to be laid out 
with painful precision, even to the prongs of the fork and the points 
of the spoon and knife taking the approved direction prescribed in 
the "Book of Pass Regulations." The extra shoes (when finally 
received) had to be polished and placed with mathematical exact- 
ness under the bunk. The floor of the barrack had to be scrubbed 
every Friday night and kept clean for the morning. If some delin- 
quent v/as found he was promptly informed that he had no "disci- 
pline," and then followed the inevitable question, "Who is your section 
chief?" The unfortunate sergeant was then told all the things for 
which he was responsible, ranging, so far as he could gather, from the 
delinquent private's personal affairs up to the direction of the entire 
war. 

Not only in respect to inspections, but in saluting and other mili- 
tary courtesies, there was no relief. How many of the uninitiated 
stepped into the captain's private room to interview him, and, after 
saluting and standing at attention for the first few moments, forgot 
themselves and proceeded to assume a more confidential and pleas- 
ant attitude by resting one hand on the captain's desk and shifting 
the total weight of the body to one foot. The captain was perhaps 
rendered speechless for a few seconds by the familiarity of the pose, 
but inevitably, after a moment, the words, "You're at Attention!" 
would crash from his lips, causing the offender not only to forget the 
stage of the story he had reached, but the whole errand itself which 
had brought him into the room. Again, when the captain entered the 
lower hall and "Attention!" was not called, or was called in a weak 
voice, the man who failed in his duty was made to repesit" Attention!" 
until he could call it and call it loudly. For him who failed to leap 
to his feet at the same warning, there were a few jumping lessons 
until he acquired the agility of a jack-in-the-box. If a new recruit, 
after a week or two in the battery, was asked by the captain for his 
name, and answered "Brown," all the officials from the lowest rank- 
ing corporal to the ranking lieutenant were brought to account for 
that man not knowing enough to affix his title "Private." Should a 
private address a non-commissioned officer as "Corp" or "Sarge" in 
the captain's hearing, he was immediately charged with a violation 



of all the articles in and out of the "Manual of Courts-Martial." 
These exactions, though responsible to a large extent for the battery's 
discipline, made the captain's departure a welcome oasis in the desert 
of militarism. 

On December 8, 1917, another increment of men from civilian life 
was received in the camp, and these men, from local boards numbers 
64 and 65, were quartered with the battery until December 13th, 
when seventy-two of them were assigned. By that time battery af- 
fairs were working more smoothly and the new recruits soon mastered 
the rudiments of military drill by the example set them and the con- 
stant attention given them. Before long they were swinging along 
with the rest of the battery. They were informed how fortunate they 
were to have made their debut while Lieutenant Reid was in com- 
mand, and how they had better begin to prepare for the imperialistic 
commander who was on detached service. 

Lieutenant Reid arranged with the manager of the 44th Street 
Theater in New York City to entertain the entire battery at a per- 
formance of "Over the Top." We went to New York on an early 
evening train and marched from the Pennsylvania Station up Sev- 
enth Avenue to the theater. Although we counted ourselves as 
soldiers, fully trained in military etiquette, we must now open the 
family closet and confess that we received explicit instructions be- 
fore we left the camp as to how we should act if the theater orchestra 
played the national anthem. We all enjoyed the play immensely and 
the trip back to camp on the midnight train ended a very happy 
occasion. 

At both Christmas and the New Year, three-day passes were 
granted to a large number of men, enabling a great majority to spend 
these holidays at home. 

First Lieutenant N. J. Marsh was casually attached to the battery 
on December 17th, and was transferred to the 305th Field Artillery 
on December 28th. First Lieutenant Pitman was attached to the 
battery on December 27th. On December 26th, Sergeants Zollinger 
and Armour were transferred to Fort Greble, where they had been 
originally stationed. 

At this time an officers' training school was established in Camp 
Upton, and men were recommended from all units to attend and 
study for commissions. Lieutenant Reid recommended a number of 
men, but only two were selected from "A" Battery. We failed to 
receive our full quota as a battery of the regiment, and Lieutenant 
Reid protested against discrimination. He appealed to the colonel, 
and asked permission to carry the case to the commanding general of 

[293 



the camp, but without success. The two selected men, Sergeants 
Ardiff and Franklin, went to school, the former going into the in- 
fantry school, where he successfully completed the course. Franklin, 
when only a few days in the artillery school, wrenched his knee while 
jumping over the trail of a three-inch gun during drill, and spent the 
rest of the course in the base hospital, thereby deprived of his chance 
to earn a well-deserved commission. 

On the 5th of January, Baecker was appointed first sergeant to 
fill the vacancy created by Ardiff's transfer. 

On January gth, Lieutenants VoUmer, Ketcham, and Swenson 
were promoted to the rank of first lieutenant. On the same day, 
Second Lieutenant Frank R. Greene was attached, and later, Febru- 
ary I ith, was assigned to the battery. Lieutenant Armstrong, then 
attached, was assigned February 21st. On February 25th, Cap- 
tain Dick returned from Fort Sill and again assumed command. 
Second Lieutenant John A. Grahn, Jr., was assigned to the battery 
on the 14th of March, and on the i6th of the same month Lieutenant 
Greene was promoted to the rank of first lieutenant and transferred 
to Battery "F" of the regiment. 

On March 31, 19 18, the roster showed the battery to have 219 
men and 9 officers, assigned or attached. 

The battery suffered a distinct loss when Lieutenants Pitman, 




ti . T. T. '2 1 



Do] 



Ketcham, Swenson, and Burke were transferred to regimental head- 
quarters. There is nothing but the highest praise on the part of the 
enlisted men for these officers. While maintaining their dignity as 
officers, they nevertheless were always fair and gentlemanly in their 
actions toward all of us. At all times they displayed the greatest 
interest in us, and employed their authority in no arrogant nor selfish 
manner, nor ever abused it to our disadvantage. They formed an 
ideal combination, better than we could have desired, and a combi- 
nation which was never again equaled, let alone surpassed, in the 
history of the battery. Lieutenant Pitman's endeavors were devoted 
entirely to the special detail, and he displayed considerable knowl- 
edge and aptitude for his work. Lieutenants Ketcham and Burke 
were engaged in the instruction of cannoneers and supervised our 
efforts to master the theories of equitation. Because of their former 
experience in the ranks they were peculiarly fitted for practical ar- 
tillery work. Lieutenant Swenson's particular duty was conditioning 
the battery in physical training and instructing us in close order drill 
and military courtesies. 

Washington's Birthday, February 22, 1918, marked the end of the 
sixteenth-week period of intensive training. At that time, the Sev- 
enty-seventh Division parade was held in New York City, but none 
of our regiment was represented, since we had neither guns nor 
horses. Many of the men, however, received three-day passes to the 
city. 

The air became surcharged with conflicting rumors to the effect 
that, on the one hand, we were going to endure another long period 
of training, and, on the other hand, that we were soon to start for 
overseas duty. Meanwhile training continued along the same lines 
as theretofore. During March, mid-week passes seemed to indicate 
that foreign service was at hand, but all rumors came to naught as 
our routine work continued. 

On March i8th, the 1 52d Field Artillery Brigade held a review and 
a ball in the 69th Regiment Armory in New York City. The men 
who were not in the city on week-end passes proceeded there during 
the day. Lieutenant Reid was in command, the captain acting as 
battalion commander. About 8 o'clock in the evening we assembled 
near the armory, manceuvered about the vicinity for a time, and 
finally halted on Madison Avenue facing Madison Square. Here we 
awaited our turn to proceed to the review, and when our turn came, 
we marched over to Lexington Avenue and 26th Street in column 
formation, entered the massive armory, and, at the command of 
"Squads left," swung into a battery front to start on our long and 

L3'1 



perilous journey past the reviewing stand. The order of "Squads 
left" resulted in utter confusion (any one might guess it would have 
to happen during a review), and we took a moment to unscramble 
ourselves and dress our line, but once recovered, we swept down the 
huge drill floor and by the reviewing stand in grand style. After the 
entire brigade had passed in review, the fun began, for the ball which 
followed was a great success. The following morning we returned to 
Upton, none the worse for our military dissipation. 

During the early part of April, the infantry units of the division 
began to move overseas. Due to the loss of many men on the final 
inspection, the depleted infantry ranks were brought up to strength 
by transfers from artillery units in the camp. We lost a total of one 
hundred and thirteen experienced men, which affected our battery 
strength not only in numbers but in the loss of well drilled men. The 
camp seemed very deserted, and all of the artillery units were in a 
sadly depleted condition. This led instantly to a bombardment of 
rumors that the artillery would not depart for overseas for some time 
to come; and, what was most depressing, other rumors gained cir- 
culation that the artillery, or what was left of it, would be converted 
into infantry. Unhappy thought! 

All thoughts of remaining in the States were dispelled by the whirl- 
wind march of events during what proved to be our last week at 
Camp Upton. Afi'airs took on a different color and all evidence 
pointed to an early departure. Equipment was inspected and re- 
inspected. Replacement troops came in large numbers from Camp 
Devens (Massachusetts) and Camp Dodge (Iowa). They were hur- 
riedly drilled to bring them up to the standard of men who had had 
some seven months' previous training. In the midst of this con- 
fusion, orders suddenly arrived for the battery to be prepared to move 
within three days — Sunday night, April 21, 19 18. The paper work in 
the office had to be brought up to the minute, and a complicated sail- 
ing list type-written in many copies. The supply sergeant had to 
bring the equipment of the men up to the requirements and dispose 
of any surplus. It meant practically all-night work for two nights. 
We were advised that Sunday would be the last opportunity offered 
for our friends and relatives to see us, and that farewells would have 
to be said in camp, since no passes would be granted. 

Sunday morning, April 21st, dawned with torrents of rain, blown 
by a cold, penetrating wind. Shortly after 9 a.m., relatives and 
friends began to arrive on the first trains from the city and splashed 
through the mud and rain, or, if they were fortunate enough, rode 
from the station to the barrack in jitney buses. At 1 1 a.m., the 



motor trucks from the Supply Company backed up to the front stoop 
of the barrack and a detail began loading the "blue bags." When 
this work was completed we were allowed to spend our time with our 
visitors. There were many pathetic scenes in the early afternoon as 
last farewells were said and relatives began to depart. At 2 p.m., 
an embarkation medical inspection of a very superficial nature was 
held and quickly completed. As evening drew on, more and more 
relatives took their last leaves, and by 8 p.m. the camp was cleared 
of civilians. 

Since the spring bunks and bed-sacks had been disposed of, we lay 
on the floor of the dormitories, on our blankets and overcoats, await- 
ing the call. Some were still engaged in making preparations for 
departure. At i a.m., the first sergeant's whistle blew and electric 
lights were switched on. The non-commissioned officers were 
gathered in the mess-hall and final instructions concerning the trip 
to the port of embarkation were given by the captain. There was 
a hurried mess; reserve rations were issued; packs were rolled; and 
the final policing of the barrack and battery area was finished. 

The confusion and excitement of the long day and the nervous 
anticipation of unusual events to come might well have dampened 
our spirits, yet some of us found energy to hang outside the barrack 
door painted signs on which were inscribed such phrases as, "Summer 
home to let — Owners gone to Europe for the Summer," "To let — In- 
quire Uncle Sam," "Good-by Upton — Will return in the Spring." 
Indeed, despite our fatigue, we were ready for anything which Fate 
might lay in our path, and Fate, to be sure, had many experiences 
in store for us. 



D3] 



The "Dizzy" 

BY VERNON B. SMITH 

He's what we call "a dizzy." He has a vacant stare, 
A countenance expressionless, a mop of matted hair; 
His conversation's jerky, his step serenely slow. 
He cannot seem to learn the things a soldier ought to know. 
He cannot hold his rifle right, nor do squads east and west; 
His uniform hangs slovenly across his sunken chest; 
He cannot pass inspection, his faults are not a few. 
But he's useful in the kitchen, for he can dish the stew. 
"Now give them all the stew they want," old Flatau used to say, 
"Yes, give the boys all they can eat, one spoonful each, to-day." 
The "dizzy" always dipped one spoon and gave not one drop more; 
He cared not for entreaties, he cared not how they swore. 
Oh, he's handy in the kitchen, for he knows not friend or foe. 
Although he cannot learn the things a soldier ought to know. 



Sn^cAHKEKejv aj^BS 




IT 3 A.M., Monday, April 22d, Battery "A" started on 
its way to join the American Expeditionary Forces. 
We assembled on the small drill grounds where we 
had executed squads right for seven months, and 
where many a pleasant afternoon had been spent 
playing baseball. A roll-call showed all men pres- 
ent. "Squads right," commanded Lieutenant Voll- 
mer, and the battery set forth for the great unknown. 
Ankle deep in mud, through the darkness and heavy fog of early 
morning, we splashed down Fourth Avenue, through 13th Street to 
Second Avenue, and on to the station. Long troop trains with their 
cars marked with the names of the units to occupy them were stand- 
ing in the station awaiting our arrival. We piled aboard and took 
our places, three men and their packs to each double seat. At 5.55 
the train drew out, and as we whizzed by the familiar stations of 
Hicksville, Mineola, and Jamaica, much interest was displayed in 
our passage by early morning commuters, who waved us farewell. 
Nearing New York, all windows were ordered closed, and we were 
cautioned not to throw from the cars any messages addressed to 
relatives giving news of our departure. Also long pieces of manila 
cord were issued with which to tie our hats to our overcoats, presum- 
ably in anticipation of a cyclonic voyage down the East River. 

We detrained at Long Island City at 8.40 a.m., as shown by the 
huge clock on the Metropolitan Tower across the river. We marched 
through the terminal and crowded on the ferry-boat George Wash- 
ington, which, when loaded to capacity, drew quietly out of the slip, 
passed down the East River, around the Battery, and up the Hudson 
to the piers of the Hamburg- American Line. The trip consumed 
four hours, for the good ship George Washington manoeuvered up 
and down before the Hoboken piers, apparently waiting for a signal 
to indicate the slip at which she should dock. We anxiously won- 
dered which of the many transports, large and small, was to be ours, 
and were considerably elated when we tied up near the giant trans- 
atlantic liner Leviathan, formerly the German ship Vaterland. 

[35] 



Tightly jammed on the ferry, our packs weighing heavily on our 
weary backs, we were more than ready to go aboard the liner, but 
we had a long wait before leaving the boat and another under the 
great sheds of the dock, before we marched aboard the steamer. We 
were very hungry, for our last mess had been served at 2 a.m. Or- 
ders had been given that we must not touch our reserve rations 
without the consent of a commissioned officer, and no officer was 
thoughtful enough to say the word; but the vacant feeling in our 
vitals was partially relieved when women workers of the Red Cross 
served us coffee and two small buns apiece. 

As we marched aboard the Leviathan, each man's name was called 
from the sailing list, and as he responded to his name a billet ticket 
was given him, designating the section of the ship and the bunk which 
he was to call his own on the trip. Guides stationed on board direct- 
ed us to our quarters. The battery was assigned to two separate 
sections of "E" deck, one section just forward of amidships, the other 
just aft of amidships. The two sections were partially separated by 
an upper gallery running around the mess-hall in which we ate. This 
part of "E" deck had formerly contained second-class state-rooms, 
but all of the latter had been torn out and were replaced by narrow 
bunks of canvas stretched on frames of iron pipes. We could temper- 
ately describe the place as being almost suitable for tenth-class 
passengers, though on the whole it would have made a first-class 
opium den. The bunks were in tiers of four, the lowest about six 
inches from the floor and the highest about two feet below the ceil- 
ing. They had been built in every conceivable corner of the vessel, 
and were so close together that two men, passing each other in the 
narrow aisles, had to walk sideways. The ship was lighted with 
electricity, but the light was very dim because of blue glass bulbs. 
The port-holes were securely fastened, and a printed notice on each 
held the peremptory order "Don't Touch." Though everything 
seemed very crowded and dirty and smelly, the bunks were never- 
theless welcome to our weary bodies, and we flopped down on them, 
or up on them, as the case might be, and began wondering how long 
we would have to endure the discomforts of a transport. 

One of the first orders given by the ship's authorities commanded 
us to turn in all matches and pocket flash-lights, with the admonition 
that any man found with either would be subject to court-martial. 
Small lamps, carefully concealed in various parts of the ship, were to 
serve the purpose of lighting cigarettes and other forms of the life- 
giving weed. The reserve rations which we had carried so diligently 
in the face of hunger were likewise turned in, since they might not be 

n36] 



kept around our bunks. Smoking was forbidden in the sleeping 
quarters or in any part of the vessel not specially designated. 

At 5 P.M. we formed in line for the "dining saloon." Mess lines 
were formed in the various corridors above the mess-hall, and after 
an exasperating delay, converged at the head of the main staircase 
leading into what was at one time a gorgeous and spacious dining- 
room. The lines were checked at the foot of the stairs until there 
was room in the hall for additional men, when, at the blast of a 
whistle, we slid forward over the greasy floor with clattering mess- 
kits and shuffling feet, to be jostled by the guides to one of the many 
portable food containers. With mess-kits quickly filled we passed on 
to one of the long narrow tables running the length of the hall. Here 
we stood up to eat, ofttimes having to push away the discarded 
potato peelings, bread crusts, and other substances which in civilized 
communities go by the name of garbage, which had been left by those 
who ate before us. Guards stood by, continually calling, "Come on, 
get that food into you and get out," or similar orders conducive to 
the promotion of indigestion. The food was extraordinarily good, 
for we had many delicacies, such as bountiful servings of butter, pie, 
and cake, but it would have been more palatable had we eaten under 
less nauseating circumstances. Passing out of the mess-hall proper, 
we entered a smaller room containing the facilities for washing our 
utensils. The refuse was deposited in huge barrels and the kits washed 
in large, rectangular metal tubs filled with boiling water. Many 
men lost implements of their mess gear in the hot soapy water, but 
the order to keep moving was imperative and no time was given to 
recover them. The exits were through narrow passageways, slippery 
with grease from the washroom. They led to the upper decks, and 
once on "E" deck it was a puzzle to strike the right gallery leading to 
the battery section. However we may have disliked this whole un- 
attractive procedure of "being fed," we must admire the efficiency 
employed in serving several thousand men twice a day. There were 
between ten and fifteen thousand persons on board, and though by 
no means all of them were served in our mess-hall, yet the work of 
cooking for and serving such an army demanded well-laid plans. We 
may be truly thankful that we crossed the Atlantic with Uncle Sam 
as our chef "Gold fish" was heavenly manna to what the troops ate 
who traveled on British transports. 

The first two nights on board were spent in Hoboken harbor. There 
was little to do but stand on the crowded decks and watch the steve- 
dores loading huge crates into the hold and otherwise preparing the 
ship for voyage. Communication with the outside world was forbid- 

1:37] 



den, and with very sober feelings we gazed at the New York City sky- 
line out before us. So near home for most of us, and yet an immeas- 
urable gulf intervened. 

With some consternation we learned that only two meals would be 
served each day, at 7.30 a.m. and 3 p.m., for there seemed to be 
nothing to do on board but eat, sleep, and pray the Almighty to guide 
us past submarines. On the night of the 23d, the guard duty of the 
ship was partly allotted to Battery "A." There were many strict 
rules to enforce and several of them gave keen delight to the privates 
on guard. About 500 nurses were numbered among the passengers. 
Army officers were not permitted to visit the nurses' deck, and greatly 
gratifying it was to a private on guard to come to port arms and 
turn back an officer who sought gallantly to click his spurs before 
some azure-footed Venus. What exquisite satisfaction, also, as the 
ship moved out, to chase an inquisitive general off the deck! 

Before leaving Hoboken we were given what were known as "Safe 
Arrival Cards," containing printed messages (to which nothing might 
be added), "Have arrived safely overseas." These cards, though sent 
ashore the night before we sailed, were held for the arrival of the 
ship on the other side before being mailed to the anxious addressees. 

On Wednesday, the 24th, most of us were awakened at 5.30 a.m. 
by the vibrations of the giant engines of the ship. Drawn by tugs 
down the river, the Leviathan started on her perilous journey in full 
regalia of wavy camouflage. With decks almost deserted she bid an 
au revoir to the Statue of Liberty, passed through the Narrows of 
lower New York Bay, and so out to sea through the Ambrose Chan- 
nel. Only here and there could we catch a glimpse of our passage, for 
we were kept off the decks until the open sea was reached, but some 
of us got a last look at the commanding towers of lower Manhattan. 
Packed in close confinement below deck we were glad enough when 
the port-holes were finally opened. The fresh sea breeze filtered into 
the stifling atmosphere of our quarters, but even with port-holes and 
large ventilators the air was decidedly foul, almost unbearably so at 
night, when the port-holes were closed. 

The eight days consumed in the voyage passed in monotonous 
routine. At reveille we crawled out of our bunks, carefully watching 
to see that the man above did not swing his feet too wildly, and 
prepared for an ante-breakfast inspection. These daily inspections 
were rated high among the sharpest thorns of our experiences during 
the voyage. All our equipment had to be folded and placed on the 
bunks according to a chart (a bad habit formed at Upton), all of 
it taken from the nooks and corners where it had been carefully put 

D8] 



away, and where it might just as well have been left until we reached 
the other side. It was a torturing task and most conducive to per- 
spiration and profanity. We got in each other's way and were con- 
tinually quarreling and struggling for elbow-room. The inspection 
was foolishly superficial and, so far as we could discover, served 




H.T.F.'ai 

absolutely no purpose but to keep us in the worst possible humor. 
After breakfast the battery was taken up to "B" deck for fifteen min- 
utes of calisthenics, after which we were allowed the freedom of the 
air for three quarters of a heavenly hour. About ii a.m. we were 
subjected to medical inspections of varied natures, and these over, 
surrendered the deck to another unit and went below to do what we 
could toward holding our breath until the next outing. Often we 

[39] 



managed to get up on "D" deck (all others were forbidden to us) to 
enjoy what comfort we could derive in the jostling crowds which 
always swarmed over its small area. 

With afternoon mess disposed of, we prepared for "Abandon Ship" 
drill, a long, tedious performance, but a very necessary precaution 
against stampeding in the emergency of our being torpedoed. A 
weird bugle-call sounded a theoretical alarm, and instantly all talk- 
ing ceased, for it was one of the strictest rules of the drill, lasting 
sometimes over an hour, that not a word be spoken save by those in 
authority. We rolled one blanket lengthwise and fastened it around 
the right shoulder and across the body over the life-preserver. Most 
of our equipment was left in the bunks, but we often took our gloves 
and always carried our canteens. The latter had been filled with 
fresh water before the pipe from the Hoboken pier had been discon- 
nected, and it was a court-martial offense to draw on their contents 
during the trip. We formed in line, and, at a given signal, marched 
without commotion yet quickly to an assigned place on deck. Here 
the life-boats and life-rafts allotted to us were situated. Naval 
officers, armed with pistols, were present in the vicinity of the boats 
to insure order. The only disappointing factor in the drill was that 
almost every day we were led to a different place, possibly a measure 
which was designed to prevent men from rushing headlong to a pre- 
determined part of the deck. When every man in the entire ship 
had reached his proper position, a recall was blown, and the long lines, 
extending from the life-boats to the very bowels of the vessel, turned 
silently back to the sleeping compartments. 

Toward dark all port-holes were shut tight and securely fastened. 
Lights went out on all the upper exposed parts of the vessel, and the 
interior of the ship was cast into the obscurit}^ of a dim blue light. 
During the evening the mess-hall was cleared of tables and thrown 
open for motion pictures. "Casey at the Bat" proved to be the prin- 
cipal feature, and Casey did himself proud every evening of the trip. 
At taps, 10 P.M., we had to be in our bunks. 

We had very few details. There were room orderlies, who were 
responsible for keeping our section clean and seeing to it that men 
disposed of rubbish in the proper receptacles. Spitting on the floor 
was positively prohibited, a fact which led to a game something on 
the order of "Tag, you're it." When a man was caught expectorating 
on the floor, he had to stand guard near the cuspidors until he in turn 
could detect another offender, who was forthwith compelled to relieve 
him. The kitchen detail, though it entailed hard work, was never- 
theless a popular one, for it brought exemption from tedious mess 

1:403 



lines and offered free access to the ship's larder. We all welcomed 
the day when Battery "A" men were assigned to this detail, for it led 
to bountiful helpings of pie and butter when we passed our friends 
at the serving counters. 

If this detail was enticing, another was proportionately repulsive. 
It was the garbage detail. The duty of the men on this detail con- 
sisted in hauling large galvanized cans of what came to be termed 
"fruit" from the lower parts of the ship to huge vats on deck. Since 
throwing the garbage into the sea during the day might have dis- 
closed our course to lurking submarines, the vats were not emptied 
until dark. Between the strenuous exertion of carrying the cans and 
the obnoxious stench of their contents the job became a fearful 
drudge, and the men were relieved every three days, despite the fact 
that the detail was supposed to be a permanent one for the same set 
of men during the entire trip. 

On the 30th, we were marched to "B" deck, formed in battery front, 
and stood muster, after which we went below and signed the pay-roll. 
On the same day steel helmets were issued — more equipment to clutter 
our crowded bunks and to lay out for inspection. That night found 
the Leviathan racing along in clear weather and a calm sea. An- 
nouncement was made that we would enter the submarine danger 
zone before midnight, and though the critical period of the voyage 
was upon us we felt little alarm. Orders were issued that all precau- 
tions against showing lights, throwing refuse overboard, and other- 
wise disclosing our course were to be more strictly heeded than ever, 
and instructions were given that every man must sleep fully dressed 
and with his life-preserver strapped on. The latter command made 
sleeping a most unattractive occupation, for the life-belts bolstered 
up our stomachs and gave one the back-breaking sensation of bal- 
ancing one's spine across a log. Many loosened their preservers and 
slipped them under their heads. 

There were no evident signs of fear as we approached the danger 
zone, but there was one short period of depression when a colonel, 
unheralded, entered the battery compartment about 10 p.m. The 
blue lights were burning dimly and only the throb of the great 
engines disturbed the quiet. Suddenly, in a deep, sepulchral voice, 
the colonel began speaking, slowly, distinctly, and with startling 
effect. At first it sounded as if he were about to launch tragically 
into some horrible ghost-story. "We are about to enter the war zone," 
he said. "Enemy submarines are lurking around to destroy us. No 
lights must be shown. To do so would invite destruction of all souls 
on board. No one must dare go near or touch a port-hole. The 

:4i] 



guards have instructions to shoot. Every man's blood is upon his 
own head. Take heed, take heed." This blood-curdling warning was 
as unexpected as it was solemn, and for a moment we were spell- 
bound. The colonel left the compartment in the complete silence of 
a morgue, but after a few breathless moments the stillness was broken 
by an inquiring voice from an obscure corner, "Who in hell let that 
bird in?" and with the spell broken, similar remarks followed amid 
suppressed laughter, "Who has a match? I want a smoke," "Hey, if 
you're going to smoke, open one of those port-holes," "Hey, guard, 
open that port-hole; it's too hot in here." 

At an early hour of the following morning we picked up our con- 
voy of four destroyers, and a very pretty and reassuring sight they 
presented as they danced and bobbed along the sea. During the day 
we had a scare, for a suspicious-looking object was discovered on the 
surface of the water not far away. One of the destroyers suddenly 
wheeled about and dropped back to investigate the matter, but the 
object of our fears was merely a harmless barrel, and we breathed 
more freely. During our passage through the submarine zone the 
Leviathafi gun crews were always ready for action, a circumstance 
which heightened our feelings of security, for the crews were picked 
gunners of the United States Navy, and were able, if one could judge 
from the expedition with which they went through their gun drills, to 
hit a porpoise at two miles. 

Another night was passed on our life-belt mattresses, and in the 




H.T.F. 'ai 



X 8 J Side do OP •p\xllrt\£>i\S 

[42] 



morning the transport was sounding its way into the channel of Brest 
harbor through a heavy fog. The fog soon lifted and revealed the 
port of Brest and its surroundings in all their passive beauty. The 
sky was cloudless, the hills wonderfully green, the water smooth as 
glass and dotted with sleeping vessels, while the town of Brest, perched 
high above the harbor, seemed to invite us to come ashore. The 
ship quickly reached its place of anchorage and immediately barges 
came alongside to carry the troops ashore. 

Y. M. C. A. workers came aboard to arrange for our alleged com- 
forts, the arrangement consisting in the magnanimous presentation 
of a pink card on which was printed a stirring welcome to the shores 
of France, a paragraph in which the Y. M. C. A. expressed the 
fervent hope that we were not boastful, a poem entitled "My Prayer," 
beginning with the line "White Captain of my soul, lead on," and, 
on the reverse side of the card, a suggestive exposition of the rates of 
money exchange granted at the "Y" canteen. About 3 p.m., we 
were ready to leave the vessel, but the prior departure of other troops 
kept us waiting over an hour. As we passed oflf the ship, sandwiches, 
cake, and fruit were given to us. British sergeants were on the light- 
ers to direct the loading of the boats, and crowded us aboard until 
we could scarcely breathe. With the regimental band playing "Good- 
by, Broadway, Hello, France," we drew away from the Leviathan 
and sailed to the pier. 

About 5 P.M., we set foot on French soil. Immediately assembled 
on the dock, we began the three-mile hike to Camp Pontanazen, ac- 
companied here and there by crowds of French children who pestered 
us for money, food, and "cigarettes pour Papa." The day was in- 
tensely hot and the road exceedingly steep at the outset of the jour- 
ney. These circumstances, added to the fact that we were enervated 
by a week of unhealthy confinement on board ship, made our packs 
seem as heavy as the sins of Herod and the prolonged hike unbear- 
ably tedious. About eight o'clock we arrived at Pontanazen barracks. 
The latter consisted of several two-story buildings set in an area 
which v/as surrounded by high walls of solid masonry. The camp had 
been standing since the middle of the sixteenth century, and looked 
it. The buildings were originally used as a monastery. Napoleon 
being the first to utilize it as a military camp. 

After our arrival we drew rations and procured a field kitchen from 
the camp storehouse. It was 1 1 p.m. before coffee and corned beef 
hash were served, and by that time, too, a drizzling rain was in prog- 
ress to aggravate our humor and increase our impatience at the 
delay of the mess. 

1:43] 



After our disheartening experiences on the Leviathan we needed 
healthful rest, invigorating exercise, and fresh air, all of which we 
obtained in plenty during our short stay at Brest. The barracks were 
cold and uncomfortable, since we slept on the floors, but the weather 
was for the most part bracing and a tremendous contrast to the 
stifling atmosphere of "E" deck. We did a little drilling and twice 
the regiment sallied forth from the camp and marched through Brest 
and other towns in the vicinity. With the band blaring its martial 
airs we paraded through the surrounding country with the sweep of 
a conquering army. There were details for building a baseball field 
(and a game in which Lieutenant Reid played catcher), and steve- 
dore work which sent several men to the docks at the harbor. But 
otherwise there was no fatigue duty beyond the usual kitchen work. 

At Pontanazen we met the censor in all his glory, and while we 
had plenty of time to write letters, our enthusiasm for that occupation 
was somewhat curbed by the thought of allowing a censor to read the 
many thrilling stories we might have concocted about our adventures 
with submarines; nor did we feel that we wished any officers to see 
the inner workings of our hearts as we poured forth expressions of 
passionate affection for our best girls. Indeed, the censorship seemed 
to be the one missing link in the chain of our military imprison- 
ment. 

On May 7th, reveille was sounded at 1.30 a.m. We ate mess in the 
rain, rolled packs, and retraced our steps to the railroad beside the 
docks. Here we made the undesirable acquaintance of French box- 
cars. These antiquated vehicles became known to us as "Hommes 
40 — Chevaux 8," or "side-door Pullmans." The anticipation of ex- 
periencing a ride in one of these cars was as keen at the beginning of 
the journey as was our hate for them at the end of it. The cars were 
small and dirty. Many flat wheels and no springs brought little 
comfort from the start. Inside, four rows of benches ran parallel with 
the length of the car, being broken in the center where the doors were 
located. This small open space was half filled with travel rations, 
loaves of bread, canned tomatoes, "canned willy," and "canned 
monkey meat," a healthy diet for any one who is given to starv- 
ing. Forty men were jammed into each car, and with them and their 
rifles and their bulky packs and the benches and the rations, we had 
a time of it finding a place to "park ourselves." "E" deck, minus the 
stench, would have been a palace in comparison. 

The train pulled out at 10.10 a.m. The horror of the ensuing trip 
gained momentum with every kilometer until, at midnight, we reached 
the extremity of torture. Sleep or anything even approaching a 

1:44] 



state of rest was out of the question. Convulsive attempts were 
made periodically by each man to extricate himself from the tangle 
of arms and legs about him by pushing in every direction at the same 
time, a contortion which invariably ended in damaging some one's 
face. Some found that a loaf of bread does not make a bad pillow, 
but only a few men could lie down near the rations. The rest sat on the 
benches, immersed among rifles and elbows and packs, occasionally 
losing consciousness to the extent of snoring loudly in the most con- 
venient ear which presented itself, or flopping forward on the muzzle 
of the nearest rifle. The day-time was little better, though the scen- 
ery was interesting and often very picturesque. We had plenty of 
food aboard, but no one wanted much of it, for we ate merely to live 
for better days. There were no toilet facilities and the train made no 
regular stops, and when it did stop we were forbidden to alight under 
threat of court-martial. Captain Dick was to be seen at every stop 
watching to see that no one got out of the cars; his implicit confi- 
dence in his fellow-countrymen was beautiful to behold. On a few 
occasions, however, we were allowed to stretch ourselves, guards be- 
ing stationed along the rails to see that no men went beyond the area 
designated. Misery played its trump-cards throughout the trip, and 
when we saw the officers alighting at all stations to buy drink and 
food we were disgusted beyond expression, and our American senti- 
ments of equality and fair play cropped up through our training in 
military discipline. 

At 3 A.M., May 8th, we arrived at Nantes and detrained long 
enough to be served a luke-warm liquid which, so we were given to 
understand, was coffee. At lo p.m. we rolled into the great terminal 
at Bordeaux, and here again we detrained for coffee. Half an hour 
later we left Bordeaux, and at 2.30 in the morning arrived at Bonneau, 
eleven miles from the former city. In an exhausted, almost dazed 
condition, we piled off the troop train and set out through the inky 
darkness for Camp de Souge, a hike of some three miles. At about 
4 o'clock in the morning we threw ourselves down on the bunks in 
our barracks, some of us not even waiting to find beds, but dropping 
to the concrete floors to fall asleep immediately. Most of us slept 
until noon, when we arose to enjoy the refreshing delight of a wash 
and a shave, the first in three days. 



1:45:1 




ROiVl the standpoint of comfort and convenience, 
Camp de Souge was a pleasant relief from the quar- 
ters at Brest, and served to restore our optimism 
about France. The camp v/as situated about eleven 
miles from Bordeaux on a stretch of sandy soil. Our 
barracks, li, I2, and I3, were long, one-story wooden 
buildings with abundant light and ventilation from 
many windows. They were electrically lighted, and 
each barrack at the rear had a pump and a wash trough with 
running cold water. A wash-house and a bath-house containing 
showers were a few hundred yards away, all too distant, however, for 
frequent usage. The mess-hall, similar in size and shape to the 
barracks, and the kitchen shed were situated to the north side. The 
mess-hall was teeming with prolific species of French flies, which 
always slept between meals but invariably joined us at mess with 
sociable animation, to attack our food with ill-mannered but envi- 
able relish. 

A few days of rest were granted us to recover from strenuous days 
of travel, and to settle ourselves in our new quarters before resuming 
the interrupted course of our training. Once begun, we had little 
respite from the grueling ordeal of constant work, for here the bat- 
tery received its final, indeed we might say its only, instruction in 
artillery. Certainly what little we had previously learned of Amer- 
ican artillery methods in Camp Upton was of practically no use to 
us now, for we discarded the American system for the French, and 
were, in fact, to use only French ordnance. Our guns did not arrive 
for four weeks, and during that period the battery continued its 
training in much the same order which had prevailed at Upton: 
calisthenics, dismounted drill, standing gun drill, with the addition 
of a few futile lectures on the ammunition and operation of a six- 
inch howitzer. The lectures were delivered by sergeants of the 26th 
Division lately arrived from the front and assigned to the camp as 
instructors. The other features need no particular mention, but we 
must pause to recall the terrors of physical exercise led by the inde- 

[46] 



fatigable Ardiff. We can never forget the "cadence, exercise, one, 
two, three, four, one, two, three, halt," as Ardiff, that master con- 
tortionist, gave us our preliminary setting-up exercises, nor the hate- 
ful heat of the dusty road on which we did the goose-step and other 
exhausting feats; and we can recall with a good deal of amusement 
the game which, for a better name, we may call "you there, you 
there, you there, and you there," in which four equal parts of the bat- 
tery, stationed in squad formation at the four corners of an imaginary 
square, rapidly exchanged places with one another at the command 
of Ardiff, who stood in the center, yelling directions. Under this 
conditioning we soon became hard as rocks, ate like lions, and slept 
as if we were on feather-beds instead of straw-mattressed bunks. And 
well it was that we did, for the weary days to follow on the range 
were soon to command our utmost endurance. 

While the main body of the battery continued the same drudgery 
which had characterized its training for the past seven months, a 
few men were selected for special instruction. The officers were 
temporarily detached and attended an officers' school in the camp 
for the purpose of learning French artillery methods under experi- 
enced instructors. The gun sergeants took a course in the nomen- 
clature and operation of the 155 mm. howitzer, the type of gun which 
was to be ours. The men first selected as gunners also attended this 
course. There was only one gun of the kind in the camp, and in- 
dividual instruction was almost impossible, so that few derived any 
particular value from the slight theoretical knowledge imparted to 
them. A few selected men were taught how to operate the Hotch- 
kiss machine-gun. The work of the special detail was directed by 
Captain Dick, and consisted in learning the French system of fire 
and the use of complicated tables for the computing of firing data. 
Men of this department were also instructed in the manner of hand- 
ling such instruments as the compass, goniometer, scissors instru- 
ment, plotting board, in the operation of the projector, and in visual 
signaling by means of flags. On the range a few men were given 
opportunities of observing fire. The telephone men attended a 
school to learn the French telephone system, methods of laying, tak- 
ing up, testing, and repairing wires, and in the manipulation of 
telephone instruments and switchboards. 

Toward the end of May, the battery received its first assignment 
of horses. Several men, uninitiated in the ways of equestrianism, were 
induced to line up before the supply room to be measured for saddles, 
to the vast amusement of the more sophisticated members of the 
battery. The men selected as drivers reported each morning at the 



shed-like stables at the upper end of the camp, and remained there 
during the entire day, and a strenuous, hot, dusty day it always was. 
Lieutenant Reid was delegated to take charge of the stables and 
Washkewitz was made stable sergeant. The drivers were in the main 
inexperienced in the handling of horses, and Lieutenant Reid's work 
was in consequence exceptionally difficult, especially as many of the 
animals were not well broken. Initial instruction was given in the 
feeding, grooming, and general care of horses, after which methods 
of harnessing were taught, followed, lastly, by instruction in riding, 
first single mounts, then teams, and finally pairs teamed together. 
This situation called for an instructor who thoroughly understood 
horses and who, aside from being a disciplinarian, had the patience 
to teach green men their various and unaccustomed tasks. No better 
man could have been found than Lieutenant Reid, whose experience, 
patience, and devotion eminently qualified him for the work, though 
he had far more interest in the actual operation of the guns, and felt 
distinctly chagrined at being sequestered at the stables, robbed of 
an opportunity for mastering the principles of fire to which he, as 
senior lieutenant, firing executive, and second in command, was 
clearly entitled. 

On Saturday night, June 8th, after being in France five weeks and 
in Camp de Souge four weeks, the battery received its four 155 mm. 
howitzers. On Sunday the guns were cleaned, and on Monday morn- 
ing instruction in the nomenclature of the piece, standing gun drill, 
and simulated firing began in earnest. This training lasted exactly 
one day and a half before the guns were taken to the range for their 
operation with the use of explosives. How our mothers would have 
quailed had they known we would fire our guns with little more than 
a day's practice! On Tuesday afternoon we enjoyed a sensation 
which we experienced on very few occasions during our sojourn in 
France. We rode on trucks, the guns trailing rapidly after us, to 
Observation Post No. 1 on the camp range. Here we heaved the four 
pieces into position and laid them for firing in the morning, after 
v/hich we returned to the barracks. In the early morning of June 
1 2th, the crews arose and went to the range. The officers of the 
regiment were in the high wooden observation post behind the pieces 
to receive actual practice in target fire and adjustment. At 9.15 
A.M. the firing began, and despite the fact that we were unused to 
handling shell and were undoubtedly over-cautious of fuses and 
powder, we concealed our nervousness admirably and conducted the 
fire with smoothness. Corporal Stevens and the third gun crew under 
Sergeant Schildknecht were the first to fire. 

1:483 



Firing at this observation post continued for two days, when the 
guns were brought back to the gun park in the rear of the barracks, 
in order to give our place on the range to other batteries. 

On Wednesday, June 19th, the battery moved to Observation Post 
No. 13. The guns were hauled along a sandy grass road which ex- 
tended from a main highway into the range, and placed in position 
among some shrubbery. The special detail laid their system of com- 
munication, and the drivers received their first actual experience in 
driving four pair of horses by hauling up ammunition in caissons and 
gun supply carts. For the first time in their army careers the firing 
battery really simulated warfare, living entirely in the open and using 
field equipment. Here, as in Upton, the battery proved its worth as a 
'Tire battery," for scarcely a day passed but the call of 'Tire on the 
range" started us on a weary chase across the rough tracts of waste 
and underbrush to the neighborhood of our targets, to extinguish the 
flames which our own projectiles had started. These numerous range 
fires, the lack of water, except what was brought to us in the water 
cart for drinking and cooking purposes, and the long hours of hard 
work, conducted chiefly in a broiling hot sun, changed the interesting 
and novel excitement of our experiences on the range into exhausting 
drudgery, which, on some occasions, proved the worse for our 
tempers. 

The following Sunday the pieces were returned to the gun park. 
The next position was Area 5 1 , where a brigade barrage problem was 
fired. This fire was directed over part of the camp, and the men at 
the stables and in other localities experienced the disturbing sensation 
of hearing shell whistle through the air over their heads. Moving 
the following day, a position was taken in Area 53, and here the 
battery fired with balloon observation. On Sunday, June 30th, we 
paraded five miles to Observation Post No. 1 1 . The guns were 
drawn by horses, while the men, with the exception of the officers 
and a few fortunate sergeants, hiked with full packs. The day was 
intensely hot and the march a tremendous strain. On Tuesday, July 
2d, the guns were withdrawn to the camp again. This terminated 
the firing practice of the battery, in all only eleven days of actual 
fire, and with this painfully brief period of training we were pro- 
nounced as capable of taking part in battle and of adequately sup- 
porting the divisional infantry in their operations. It is a fact not to 
be overlooked, for many divisions were never supported by their own 
artillery because the latter could not graduate from training camps in 
time to join them at the front. It is a fact which establishes the high 
intelligence of both officers and men of the Seventy-seventh Division 

L49l 




H.X.Fi '21 



Oii;Serv2d:ioivPo^t No.l. Csotcp dejSoMP'e. 

artillery that they could, in so short a time, effectively master the 
knowledge of their guns and the confidence in their operation that 
enabled them to take a prominent and creditable part in later 
campaigns. 

The above paragraph concludes the narration of the main issues of 
our stay at Camp de Souge, and includes merely an important sum- 
mary of our work there, but there are other matters which we can- 
not pass by without at least cursory or suggestive remarks. 

Among these, the one of outstanding importance was the appoint- 
ment of a new battery commander to replace Captain Dick, who, 
after the completion of our work on the range, was assigned as a 
permanent instructor at Camp de Souge. With much anxiety we 
awaited the appointment of his successor. In our minds there was 
but one suitable selection, that of Lieutenant Reid. He was the 
senior lieutenant, and, up to the time of his inexplicable sequestration 

[503 



to a more reduced position in the stables, had been firing executive 
of the battery from the beginning of its existence. He knew all the 
men personally and some intimately. It was his delight to work 
with them and theirs to work with him. He handled all with perfect 
judgment and obtained maximum results, and while, as many in- 
stances demonstrate, he demanded strictest discipline, yet he never 
attempted to prussianize the organization. Despite the fact that he 
had spent the major portion of his efforts in constantly supervising 
the work at the stables, and had missed the necessary artillery prac- 
tice on the range, he nevertheless gained the recognition of Colonel 
Smith, and was recommended for promotion. The news of his selec- 
tion was greeted with tremendous enthusiasm, and his own feelings 
are best expressed by the words he spoke at the time, "Now, I am 
happy." 

Several other changes occurred in the personnel of the officers. 
Lieutenant Armstrong was transferred to the Headquarters Company 
as regimental gas officer. First Lieutenant O'Connor and Second 
Lieutenant Barker were assigned to the battery, the former in the 
position of executive of the firing battery, the latter as second ex- 
ecutive during the absence of Lieutenant Grahn, who was detailed to 
Montargis in charge of a detachment for collecting horses. Lieuten- 
ant Barker, a few days before the battery left for the front, was 
thrown from his horse and removed to the camp hospital, and Lieu- 
tenant O'Connor was assigned to the camp as an instructor. 

On July 3d the brigade vacated camp and moved to a race-track 




rl.T. r. '21 






near Bordeaux, encamping there for the night, preparatory to a 
parade through the city on the Fourth of July. On the morning of 
the Fourth, with guns glistening, horses shining (as much as an army 
horse can shine), and with caissons loaded with cannoneers, their 
arms folded across their chests in approved military fashion, we 
paraded through the streets of Bordeaux, thronged with people, by 
the decorated reviewing stand in the Place des Quinconces, and out 
of the city to our temporary camp. The following morning we 
returned to Camp de Souge, and from then until July 1 5th, when the 
battery entrained for the front, no work of any importance occupied 
us save preparing for the move. 

Aside from these incidents there are several matters of general 
interest which demand a few passing words. One was that of training 
in gas defense. Great stress was laid on that phase of our work in 
Upton, although, as we have seen, the facilities for instruction had 
been very limited. At Camp de Souge every man had his own gas-mask, 
and drill was seriously and effectively pursued under the tutelage of 
Lieutenant Armstrong, Gas Sergeant Bernstein, and Corporal Kopp. 
We practised speed of adjustment, talking, pressing out for gas, 
wearing our protectors for ever-increasing periods of time, at the guns, 
at drill, on the mess line, and any other time or place when the hate- 
ful cry of "Gas" resounded in our ears. Finally v/e all went through 
the gas tank, but intensive training in the use of the mask really 
reached its height when Lieutenant Armstrong conceived the idea of 
waiting until the battery was asleep before sounding an alarm. The 
effect would have been more startling had not the news of the con- 
templated gas attack leaked out. As it was, we all slept with gas- 
masks near by, adjusted them in record time, and made Lieutenant 
Armstrong feel that he was a highly , efficient gas officer, that his wiork 
had been accomplished, and that we were entitled to a respite from 
continual drill. Captain Dick drove home the seriousness of gas de- 
fense by delivering a series of highly intimidating lectures. Well 
can it be remembered how he raised his hand in warning as he told 
us that we must learn to be quick, for, if we were a second late, we 
would be subject to the "horrible death" of "drowning in our own 
blood." 

In fact. Captain Dick's lectures were frequent and always terrible 
in their significance. He gave stirring talks on maintaining high 
standards of morality while on pass in Bordeaux. One thrilling 
oration was delivered on saluting, in v^hich, by a process of masterly 
inductive logic, the underlying cause of America's entrance into the 
war was laid to the failure of the Russian soldiers to salute properly. 



Their neglect in this respect caused the disintegration of morale in 
the Russian army, and so the decline and downfall of its fighting 
powers, which, in turn, made it easy prey for the German hosts. 
Germany, with Russia eliminated, again became a formidable power, 
threatening to crush the Allies, and so America had to step in. Thus 
the importance of the salute and the dreadful consequences of neglect 
were brought home to us. 

A speech was also made on the subject of obeying the orders of 
non-coms, and came to be commonly known as the "Never ask why" 
speech. This was to protect non-coms, ofttimes in their stupidity, 
but woe to the man who asked "why." He was summoned before the 
captain, and the very charge guaranteed a verdict of guilty. Tenny- 
son's line, "Theirs not to reason why," was to be stenciled on each 
man's memory. 

We cannot linger to discuss our trips to Bordeaux, obtained at the 
expense of repeating the general orders in a fashion not unlike a 
pupil in Sunday-school reciting the Ten Commandments, nor many 
other things we might recall, — guard-duty in the camp and at Bon- 
neau, the Y. M. C. A. huts, "Sergeant" Shurman as custodian to the 
key of the "gas cloud," the tedious lines in front of the commissary, 
our Sunday recreations, our comforts and discomforts, and a host of 
humorous incidents which marked our stay at Camp de Souge and 
alleviated the strain of our life there. We must pass on to subsequent 
stages of our history in which our long months of training bore fruit. 



L5il 



Pious Prendie 

BY VERNON B. SMITH 

This is a sorrowful story of how a name was won, 

The name of "Pious Prendie," the lord of the Hotchkiss gun. 

Remember those passes to Bordeaux, when the first chosen few went 

down 
To reconnoiter the city and size up the good old town. 
To see if Bordeaux was a fit place for the men of the rank and file 
To go without a chaperone and wander about for a while? 

Well, Prendie was one of the chosen, so narrow, straight, and thin. 
To go with the rest of the non-coms, and steer them away from sin. 
The city laughed in the sunshine, it seemed to call him to stray 
Into its frolicking, joyous paths — far from the narrow way. 

Prendie struggled manfully to force his lagging steps 
To lead him past the cafe signs, and drag him by "buvettes." 
'One little drink won't hurt me, one little sip of vin 
Will give me the 'pep' to lead the boys out of the paths of sin." 

So his devil argued, till at last the devil won. 
And forced him out of his narrow path into a hell of rum. 
I'll skip the painful story of how he stayed and drank, 
Of how he lost his dignity, and made himself a "tank," 

Of how he hired a taxi-cab to take him back to camp, 

And how he woke the barracks, when the morning dews were damp; 

But this is what our hero did before he "hit the hay," 

He dropped right down upon his knees, and started in to pray. 

"Oh, Lord, forgive my sin," quoth he, "for solemnly I swear 
I'll never take another drink," so ran his soulful prayer. 
Repentance smote him to the heart — that's why we all agree 
That Prendie well deserves a name for greatest piety. 




WEEK of expectant and somewhat impatient waiting 
was terminated by the receipt of orders directing us 
to leave Camp de Souge. We had had plenty of time 
to prepare carefully for our departure, and the final 
loading of equipment in the trucks was easily and 
quickly accomplished. We drew out of the gun park 
at 6.45 Monday evening, July 1 5th, lumbered through 
the main gateway of the camp, and there bade fare- 
well to the colony of temporary cafes, movie theaters, and fruit stands 
which were popularly known to us as "Coney Island," and which we 
had patronized most lavishly during the past weeks. An hour's 
march brought us to the railway station at Bonneau. 

We knew that Colonel Smith was to accompany us on the coming 
trip, and felt that he was present for the purpose of judging Lieuten- 
ant Reid's ability to fill his new post of battery commander. We 
therefore redoubled our efforts to load the train with expeditious 
efficiency, and if we may be permitted to throw buttercups at our- 
selves, we accomplished our work most creditably for inexperienced 
men, taking a little over two hours to complete the task. The train 
was late and did not arrive until 1 1 p.m. It consisted of fifty cars, 
flat-cars for the guns and carriages, and the hateful "Hommes 40 — 
Chevaux 8" for the horses and men. While the loading of guns and 
rolling stock was comparatively easy, considerable difficulty was 
encountered in persuading some of the more obstinate horses to 
enter their Pullmans. In several cases it was necessary to push the 
animals in with our shoulders. Our labors were hastened not only by 
a desire to make record time and a good impression, but also by a 
threatening storm, which flashed and thundered over the eastern 
horizon. Some of us may remember the forest fire which for a time 
raged away in the distance, and to which, strange as it still appears 
in the light of past experience in Souge, we were not called. 

We snatched a few hours' sleep before reveille and breakfast at 
5.30 A.M. The train pulled slowly out a half-hour later. The trip, 
on the whole, was a decided improvement over the last one, and we 

1:55] 



had Lieutenant Reid to thank for the change. Considerate to the 
last degree, he determined to make us as comfortable as possible. 
The field kitchen was placed on the flat-car next to the box-cars 
which contained the men. Hot food and coffee were always ready 
for us, and arrangements were made with the engineer to stop the 
train for mess. The box-cars were not half filled with heavy benches, 
as on the other trip, and our straw bed-sacks, transported from camp 
and spread on the floors of the cars, softened the bumps and af- 
forded us ample opportunity for comfortable sleep. As we look back 
on it, our lot was far from a miserable one. While in the army our 
greatest wish was to be out of it, yet not every civilian can get a free 
ride through France, and, if he does, he cannot lie on the floor of his 
compartment, dangle his feet out of the door, yell at the girls along 
the road, or take off his shirt at any time, so, after all, while we did 
not sleep between sheets or wipe mock-turtle soup off our lips with 
a clean white napkin, yet in some respects we fared better than we 
may at some future date, if we travel the same route in stiff collars. 
Passing through St. Medard, we arrived at Bordeaux about 9.20 
A.M. We stopped just long enough to water the horses, many of the 
men jumping out to wash their hands and douse their heads under 
the pumps along the station platform. Morrides, St. Astier, and 
Perigueux were passed, the last about three in the afternoon. Here, 
through an error of the railroad authorities, the instrument car, con- 
taining all the fire-control equipment, was detached, and at Thiviers, 
where the loss was first discovered, Sergeant Franklin and Private 
Lajoie were sent back to attend to its recovery. At Limoges, which we 
reached at eight in the evening, we drew up on a track running along 
the main street, and for an hour enjoyed watching French soldiers 
and mademoiselles, and talking with them as much as our French 
and their English would permit. The next day took us through 
country rich in scenic beauty, containing the towns of Bourges, 
Sancerre, Chatillon-sur-Seine, and Chaumont (A.E.F. headquarters). 
The last we reached about 1 1.30 p.m. Just outside Chaumont, Fol- 
vig, who v^'as doing guard-duty in one of the horse-cars, was kicked 
out by one of the horses and received a severe gash in the head. The 
accident was not discovered and the train rattled on, leaving him on 
the tracks. Though dazed by the fall, he was able to walk several 
kilometers along the tracks to an infantry camp. He was sent to a 
hospital, later rejoining the battery at Bazoches. Early the follow- 
ing morning a similar incident occurred, this time to a horse. He 
managed to get loose from the halter chain, backed around, and fell 
out of the car with the train in motion. Landing on his feet, he 

[56] 



valiantly pulled himself together, and, until the train made a stop 
three miles ahead, galloped merrily after it, patriotically determined 
at all odds not to be considered a deserter. Under the guidance of 
Lieutenant Reid the noble beast was lifted almost bodily into the 
car again, none the worse for his marathon exploit and inconsider- 
ately unabashed at the trouble he had caused. 

At Darney, on the morning of the i8th, one of the flat-cars con- 
taining two of the caissons was detached on account of spring trouble. 
It later rejoined us at Baccarat. 

Epinal was passed at 9.45 a.m., Charmes at 10.40, and Blainville 
an hour later. We reached Luneville at noon. Mess was served at 
the station platform. The ensuing ride to Baccarat aroused con- 
siderable interest. We now knew what we had suspected from the 
beginning of the trip, that we were bound for the Lorraine sector, 
and we found all along the road distinct signs of battle, which had 
been, ever since our coming to France, the objects of our curiosity. 
While these signs of war were nowhere as marked as those which we 
later saw, yet many of the buildings were demolished, bridges 
destroyed, and long lines of rusty barbed-wire defenses ran across 
fields and even through the shallow waters of the Meurthe River. 
The Germans had taken this territory in the early months of the war, 
later to vacate it and leave behind them results of their campaign, 
and, above all, the graves which dotted the fields immediately adjoin- 
ing the railroad track. 

The train drew into Baccarat at 2.30 p.m. on July i8th. We had 
traveled for three days and two nights, covering a total distance of 
about five hundred kilometers. 

At Baccarat, Lieutenant Grahn and the detail assigned to get 
horses at Montargis rejoined us. At Baccarat, also, we met some of 
the infantrymen of our division who had preceded us to the Lorraine 
sector. They filled our ears with harrowing tales of the front lines, 
and told us what later proved to be authentic information, that the 
enemy, in anticipation of our arrival, had displayed signs from their 
observation balloons, "Good-by, 42d — Hello, 77th." With these 
wild stories disturbing our peace of mind, we began our march to- 
ward the front. Immediately upon reaching the main road from the 
town, a factory whistle blew with a sound similar to the Strombos 
horn which we had been taught was a signal for a gas alarm. Many 
anxious looks and nervous laughs indicated that we considered 
ourselves really in for it now, and that we might expect a heavy 
bombardment at any second. Our fears were allayed for the moment 
when we were assured that the whistle was not the prelude to a gas 

D73 



cloud, and we continued along the road in better spirits. We pulled 
through Merviller and off to the right up a steep hill to an orchard, 
where the guns were parked under the camouflage of the trees. Con- 
tinuing up the hill behind the camouflage nets which walled the left 
of the road and hid it from the enemy observation balloons, we came 
to the Bois de Bouloy, and here the echelon was established. With 
wagons unloaded, tents pitched, picket-lines stretched between several 
of the trees, and with other numerous details attended to, all in the 
darkness of early evening, we were assembled for instructions. The 
dangers of our position were emphatically impressed upon us, and 
the necessity of precaution against enemy observation was explained 
and enlarged upon, until our worst suspicions of expected death in 
the very near future were increased to such an extent that we hesi- 
tated to disturb a single leaf or twig for fear a photograph from an 
enemy plane might disclose our hiding-place. There were to be 
no lighting of matches, no smoking except under cover, no flash-lights 
employed, no congregating in groups with aeroplanes overhead, no 
gazing at enemy planes. Guards were placed along the edge of the 
wood to stop men from venturing beyond the protection of the trees 
or tramping down the grain in the neighboring fields, but despite our 
weariness and apprehensions, curiosity was too much for us, and 
many stole to the edge of the woods and watched the signal rockets 
rise steadily above the distant horizon, up and up, and then dis- 
appear. Occasionally the sustained flare of a star-shell lit up the 
dark hills. It was for the most part intensely quiet, and we could 
scarcely believe that this was war, though the weird lights gave the 
scene a strange touch, and made us feel that unexpected things might 
happen at any moment. At one time, far off to the left, the faint 
glow and distant rumble of a bombardment showed that the scene 
before us was not so peaceful as it looked. 

The next morning we were treated to our first glimpse of an enemy 
aeroplane. A whir was heard overhead, and a gray plane shot over 
the woods, flying fairly low. There was a wild scramble for helmets. 
A barrage of bursting shrapnel from anti-aircraft guns sought to 
encircle the German, but he got away safely, leaving us with a pro- 
found respect for German aviation. 

Later in the day an ammunition dump not far from the echelon 
blew up. In the afternoon. Lieutenant Reid, with Sergeants Welch, 
Field, Schildknecht, and Gray, went forward on reconnaissance to 
select positions for the guns. The positions finally chosen were a few 
hundred yards beyond Vaxenville. They had been previously oc- 

C58: 



cupied and were to some extent already prepared as gun-pits, but 
needed renovation. That same night the third and fourth gun crews 
went forward under cover of darkness to improve one of the pits 
which was especially dilapidated, that to be occupied by the third 
piece. Two of the positions were dug into the high bank on the 
forward side of the road about twenty yards apart. Below the road 
to the left rear were the other two emplacements (guns number three 
and number four). Below the road and directly back of the first 
platoon were the kitchen and a roughly constructed shack which 
served us well as a mess-shack during our short stay, and which, with 
one exception, proved to be the only mess-hall we were to have on 
this or any other front. All paths leading from one emplacement to 
another were fenced off with wire to prevent their enlargement by 
constant usage, for any change in the terrain was, we were told, easily 
perceptible in comparative photographs taken by observation planes. 

On the night of July 20th the guns were moved forward, arriving 
exactly at midnight, and were heaved into their respective emplace- 
ments, after which we had our first taste of underground sleeping 
quarters. Our dugouts were fairly comfortable, and there were 
enough of them to allow for sufficient elbow-room, though a dugout 
at best would not appeal to any of us as an ideal home. At least they 
were safe, and safety was an important factor in our lives in those 
days. Our dugouts there were the acme of security as compared with 
the shallow fox-holes which we later dug for ourselves in other fronts, 
so, despite their dampness, we had little enough to complain of. 

The night of the 25th, however, tended to shatter our confidence 
in the invincibility of our earthen homes, for a Boche plane came 
humming and humming over the lines and dropped several bombs 
on the cross-roads about a hundred yards from the position. The 
effect on our nerves was instantaneous, and many acts were com- 
mitted which now cause a smile. Petterson, on guard, shot off his 
rifle as a gas alarm. Some threw themselves into their dugouts; 
almost all adjusted their gas-masks and helmets in panic-stricken 
haste. The next day, however, true to the American mania for 
souvenirs, many of us were up at the cross-roads, collecting pieces 
of shell-casing to treasure as evidence of our first experience with 
hostile fire. 

It was not until the 26th that the battery fired its first and only 
mission on the Lorraine front. Lieutenant Reid, Lieutenant Grahn, 
and Sergeant Franklin laid the guns for fire. The target assigned to 
us was a trench in the enemy lines. French officers supervised the 



firing. The shots were plotted by the sound-ranging method. The 
first data to be given was in the following form — 

Base deflection — Right 171 (correction left 12) 

Shell— OA 

Fuse — SR 

Charge — O 

Site — plus 6 

Elevation — 480 

Method of Fire — At my command 

The firing was from left to right, and the fourth piece, therefore, 
received the honor of sending our first greeting to Germany. When 
the command was given, the fourth piece was loaded and primed, 
loaded with a shell which bore the names of the gun crew chalked 
upon it, together with an appropriate message to Fritz. Lieuten- 
ant Reid sent the command of "Fire" over the wire to Lieutenant 
Grahn, who passed it on to Sergeant Gray; and quicker than it takes 
to write it, Sergeant Gray shouted "Fire," and Kearns pulled the 
lanyard. With a terrific roar the gun leaped back on the revetment, 
and the whistle of the projectile could be heard in its swift flight 
over the lines. Several Frenchmen from the eight-inch howitzer 
battery adjoining our position were there to watch the performance, 
and assured the fourth gun crew that in the early days of the war, 
when they had fired their first shot, they had been able to do so only 
with the aid of "beaiicoup de vin." Thus Battery "A," less than a 
year after its organization, made its real debut as an active member 
of the American Expeditionary Forces. 

At the end of the sixth shot, number four ceased firing and num- 
ber three began, at the command of Sergeant Schildknecht. The 
operations of this gun were somewhat delayed because the first shot 
set the camouflage afire. The second piece, under the command of 
Sergeant Field, was next to fire, with the result that the concussion 
raised havoc with the kitchen, twenty-five yards to the rear. A can 
of soup and a boiler of stewed tomatoes overturned and put out 
the fire under them. The first piece, under Sergeant Welch, com- 
pleted the firing, and with this final adjustment a target shot was 
reported. The French officers who had supervised the fire plotted 
the shots on a map and gave it to Lieutenant Reid, who carried it in 
his pocket to the time of his death, and always displayed it and its 
target shot with the greatest pride. The chances are, however, that 
the German trench was deserted, and in view of the damaging efi'ect 
on our mess, it is probable that we suffered far more than the enemy. 

We did no more firing from this position, although great quantities 

[60] 



of ammunition arrived each night to disturb our sleep and aggravate 
our tempers. Aside from the unloading, distribution, arrangement, 
and rearrangement of shell, the firing battery had little to do. Never 
again were we to have such comfort at the front, and while it rained 
on several occasions, we had many pleasant days in which to enjoy 
ourselves. We came to realize that we had little to fear from enemy 
activity, for there seemed to be a tacit agreement with the Germans 
that this sector should be a quiet one, where wearied divisions might 
be sent for rest and recuperation, and though we always had one eye 
open against enemy observation planes, we made the most of our 
comfortable security by bathing in the little stream behind the 
position, washing clothes, visiting the towns near at hand, patroniz- 
ing the French and American canteens, making friends with neighbor- 
ing French soldiers, and at night gathering together to talk and sing 
away a very pleasant and healthy existence. An Algerian from the 
French howitzer battery afforded unending amusement. One night 
we tossed him in a blanket, to the immense gratification of his com- 
rades. He apparently considered himself an accomplished linguist, 
for he displayed his knowledge of English with self-conscious pride. 
The display, however, consisted of the words "Come on!" and a 
number of unhallowed phrases the expression of which seemed to 
give him huge satisfaction and which he employed on every occasion 
and in answer to every question put to him. 

The firing battery was the envy of those at the echelon, for the 
latter were not faring so well. The echelon was in charge of Second 
Lieutenant Armstrong, who had been temporarily attached to the 
battery due to our shortage of officers, and of Second Lieutenant 
Herschel C. Tritt, who had just graduated from the artillery school 
at Saumur. Heavy rains made life most uncomfortable for the men 
who were living in pup-tents, and during clear days aerial activity 
annoyed them continually. Gas alarms were frequent and were the 
more exasperating because they were always false. On the night of 
July 2ist one of the drivers, returning from the gun positions to the 
echelon, passed through Merviller and noticed that the inhabitants 
were wearing their gas-masks. Upon his arrival at the echelon he 
reported the fact and the gas klaxons blared out an alarm. All 
hastily adjusted gas-masks and helmets while Lieutenant Armstrong 
rode to Merviller to ascertain the extent of the alleged attack. It 
took him over an hour and a half to investigate the matter, and dur- 
ing that time the men were needlessly smothering in their masks. 
From sheer excitement and the closeness of the masks some few men 
vomited into the face-pieces, while others cried madly that they were 

:6i3 



gassed. Some, unable to endure the suffocation further, prepared to 
die and took off their protectors, but even the fact that they continued 
to live was not sufficient proof to the others that there was no gas pres- 
ent, and when Lieutenant Armstrong returned to announce that 
masks might be removed, the majority were in a woebegone state of 
exhaustion. Our overcautiousness and ignorance of gas warfare 
appear ridiculous in the light of later experience, yet the affair was 
very vital at the time. We learned our lesson, and when, on the 
following night, a sentry from Battery "D" discharged his rifle, 
presumably as a gas alarm, better judgment was displayed, and 
panic did not rob us of reason, for tests were made and masks re- 
moved within a few minutes. 

Sergeant Ardiff at this time received his commission as a second 
lieutenant of infantry and left the battery. He was assigned, how- 
ever, not to an infantry unit, but to the 13th Field Artillery, a regi- 
ment which we later relieved at the Vesle. 

On the night of the 31st, the guns were withdrawn to the echelon. 
The move was made without mishap, save an injury to Corporal 
Stevens, gunner of the third piece. His heel was crushed under one 
of the wheels of the gun. He was removed to the hospital in Bac- 
carat, and did not rejoin the battery until August 28th. While mov- 
ing back, a few bombs exploded on adjoining hills, and on reaching 
Merviller a false gas alarm sounded. The guns arrived at Bois de 
Bouloy about i a.m. 

The next day, August ist, v/as employed in preparations for mov- 
ing. The blue bags containing surplus equipment, which we had 
carried with so much care from the States, were turned in and our 
personal equipment was reduced to what we could carry on our backs. 
With this reduction in baggage it looked as if we were bound for 
active campaigning, and rumors were strong and persistent that we 
were scheduled to relieve veteran divisions in the great drive at 
Chateau-Thierry, though the Italians in the battery clung delightedly 
to another report, that Italy would be our ultimate destination. The 
former assumption was strengthened when we began our march late 
in the evening, for, on the road to Baccarat, we met a continual 
stream of French artillery which had arrived from Chateau-Thierry 
to relieve us and win their well-earned rest in the quiet of Lorraine. 

The first night's march was slow and tedious. We drew into Bac- 
carat at midnight, were delayed almost two hours, and finally lum- 
bered on through Fontry and Douptail, arriving at last at Magnier 
about 7 A.M., August 2d. This was the first time we had ever 
engaged in an all-night hike, and it was unusually exhausting, since 

[62] 



we had not had the foresight to snatch a much-needed rest before the 
start. It meant some thirty hours without sleep, and this, coupled 
with the exertion of hiking, told severely on us. Those who were 
mounted awoke many times with a start to find that they had been 
sleeping in the saddle; those riding on caissons often lost conscious- 
ness despite the rumbling and lurchings of the springless vehicles 
which carried them; and those walking barely dragged their feet 
along. 

We established ourselves in a dense woods near Magnier, and 
after attending to the many details of watering and feeding the 
horses, stretching the picket-lines, and the host of other duties con- 
nected with encampment, we rolled in our blankets and slept until 
mess, at 5.30 p.m. We were prepared to move on at 9 o'clock, but 
it was 1 1 P.M. before we started on our second night of monotonous, 
tiresome hiking. We reached Loromentzey at 6.30 a.m. of August 
3d, and here we remained until August 7th, not under the most enjoy- 
able circumstances. The pieces with caissons and wagons were lined 
along the edge of the road and acted as supports for the picket-line. 
Constant rains left the road extremely muddy, and, what with the 
mud, our own horses, which consumed half of the road space, and the 
continual traffic as other batteries led their horses to water, the way 
was well nigh impassable. It was in no pleasant humor that we stood 
on the mess line ankle-deep in mud, waiting to be served while pass- 
ing horses splashed and spattered clay all over us, or vainly sought 
to shelter ourselves from the rain by creeping into our pup-tents 
among the wet trees and dripping thickets beside the road. How- 
ever, our life was not all discomfort, for we enjoyed many visits to 
neighboring villages and were entertained by band concerts and 
vaudeville in an adjoining field. Rudolphi's songs and Sam Mitchell's 
"Army Blues" were always sufficient to revive our spirits under the 
most adverse circumstances. Furthermore, we were no longer on the 
front line, but were out of harm's reach, and, with the omnipresent 
masks and helmets discarded, we felt more free and easy. 

It was in this position that McKinley, who had been kicked by a 
stallion in Baccarat, was sent to the hospital for an X-ray diagnosis 
of a possible fracture of the ankle. He rejoined the battery in Au- 
gust on the Vesle. 

Before our departure Captain Dick and .Lieutenant O'Connor 
returned to the regiment from Camp de Souge. 

At 8.30 p.m., in the evening of August 7th, camp was broken, and 
after a short march until 1 1 p.m., we reached Bayon. As we 
approached the station we halted in the vicinity of a French canteen 



where we were able to obtain cheese sandwiches, hot cocoa, and 
coffee, all of which were eagerly welcomed by empty stomachs. We 
moved on beyond the railroad tracks for about a kilometer, and 
snatched two hours' sleep awaiting the arrival of our train. With a 
blazing fire by which to warm ourselves, a cup of coffee for refresh- 
ment (served by our own kitchen at the command of Lieutenant 
Reid), and those precious hours of sleep, we were ready at three 
o'clock to turn back to the railroad station and load ourselves and 
our materiel on the troop train. We left Bayon at exactly 6.30 in 
the morning, additionally refreshed by a few swallows of hot choco- 
late served by a Y. M. C. A. girl who passed along the platform and 
filled our extended mess-cups. The ensuing trip occupied a day and 
a night. Our route may be traced by the following towns — Charmes, 
7.30 A.M.; Chatenois, 11.40 a.m.; Neufchateau, 12.30 p.m.; Bar-le- 
Duc, 6 p.m., and Coulommiers, where we detrained. There seemed 
to be much doubt whether we would be allowed to eat breakfast at 




H.T. r. '21 



the station before resuming the march, but finally we were fortified 
with hash, bread, jam, and coffee. 

At 9.30 we started on our way, passed through Coulommiers, a 
town which seemed more flourishing than any we had seen for a long 
time, and continued about five kilometers beyond to a grain field on 
the left of the road, A space in the field was cleared of wheat stacks, 
and here the rolling stock was aligned with due regard to military 
uniformity. Tents were pitched under the shade of an apple orchard 
close at hand. Visits to near-by villages gave us opportunities to 
purchase eggs and enjoy a meal, while a stream flowing by a farm- 
house at the foot of the hill afforded a universal wash-up, which we 
sadly needed after our protracted confinement to dirty box-cars. 

An order received at 9 p.m., to move on the following morning at 
4 A.M., was canceled almost immediately after its receipt. 

Iron rations were issued during the afternoon of August loth, 
preparatory to our moving that night. 

At 5 P.M. the march began, and save for one halt from 5.45 to 
7.30 P.M., on the road near Les Ormes, we traveled the entire night, 
almost without interruption. We passed through Rebais about 8.30 
P.M. The hike developed into a forced march. The horses were 
driven at an extremely fast pace and the men who were walking 
suffered proportionately. Lieutenant Reid did his utmost to relieve 
this hardship on the dismounted men by arranging to have every 
man get a fair share of riding on the caissons. He urged all mounted 
men to dismount at times and allow wearied stragglers to rest them- 
selves in the saddle, and it was no uncommon sight to see a buck 
private riding on the battery commander's horse. There were re- 
markably few stragglers when the battery arrived on the bank of 
the Marne River, and those who did fall back soon rejoined us at 
our place of encampment. The latter was a field about half a kilo- 
meter from the small village of Azy, one kilometer from Chezy-sur- 
Marne, and about seven kilometers from Chateau-Thierry. It was 
a beautiful clear Sunday, and after a few hours' sleep we enjoyed a 
swim in the Marne. A few hundred yards up the river lay a bridge, 
wrecked beyond use, with parts of its span hanging down into the 
water. Across the river an aeroplane, which had fallen the day be- 
fore, was buried nose down in a meadow. It had carried its Amer- 
ican pilot to his death. Beside our camping ground was the grave 
of an American soldier, buried where he fell. 

At 8.30 P.M. the march was resumed, and at Essomes, about 10.30 
P.M., it was announced that because of congested traffic ahead there 
would be a halt of two hours. Always able to sleep at any time or 

1:653 



place, we rolled in our overcoats and slickers and lay down along the 
road. Essomes was more badly wrecked than any village we had 
seen and showed all the signs of the terrific fighting which had taken 
place not many days before. Battered houses and churches, the debris 
strewn about the streets, and the odor of decaying flesh brought the 
full import of the situation to our minds. Chateau-Thierry, through 
which we passed about 2 a.m., greeted us with even worse scenes of 
destruction. The town was deserted save for sentries walking post; 
the streets were cluttered with broken down barricades, an evidence 
of the hand-to-hand fighting which had taken place, and windows 
were boarded up; and the beautiful trees of the boulevard along 
which we passed showed the disastrous effects of shell-fire. The 
bright moonlight glistened on the Marne, disclosing in their gaunt- 
ness the destroyed bridges over the river and two pontoon-bridges 
floating at their anchors. 

Continuing a kilometer beyond Epieds, we encamped alongside a 
thin grove of trees on the flat top of a broad hill. The last few miles 
of the route had been made in the light of early morning, and signs 
of destructive warfare, which had escaped us in the darkness of night, 
were now revealed in full detail. Quantities of equipment, both 
American and German, were strewn all along the immediate vicinity 
of the road and in the gutters. Fox-holes and machine-gun emplace- 
ments, piles of ammunition, the graves of soldiers, hand-grenades, 
rifles, shell holes, and battered buildings, — these and a thousand 
other things showed us the hard path our fellow-countrymen had 
hewn for themselves in the face of a desperate enemy, and the recency 
of their swift conquests was brought home to us not only by this 
abandoned state of the surrounding country, but also by the nau- 
seating stench which occasionally swept to us on the gusts of the 
wind. Beyond Epieds some of us explored the neighboring woods to 
find even greater evidence of the battle, but the unbearable smell 
which clung there prohibited any extensive survey of the interior. 

At midnight the last stretch of the journey was commenced, and 
we continued through many towns which had been the scenes of 
much of the fiercest American fighting, Beuvardes, Fresnes, Cour- 
mont, Cierges, and Sergy, the last of which exchanged hands seven 
times between the opposing forces. We could not reach our destin- 
ation under cover of darkness, and for over two hours hiked in broad 
daylight under the very eyes of hostile observation. Indeed, the 
long serpentine line of the brigade, often extending from the crest of 
one hill over the top of another, must have presented a very pretty 
picture to our friends across the line, and in the early days of the 

[66] 



war, when German opposition was more stable, would have offered 
an easy and most enticing target for their efficient artillery. How- 
ever, the brigade rumbled slowly on without mishap, except that a 
false gas alarm was called because some facetious souvenir connois- 
seur of another battery set off a hand-grenade. At 9 a.m. we clattered 
down into Nesle, and wound up the steep hill to the Nesle woods be- 
yond. Here again we were greeted with abandoned German equip- 
ment, the same unsanitary remains of temporary occupation, and the 
same obnoxious odors. It was thought that it would be more healthy 
to have us pitch our tents in the open on the slope of the hill, and 
this was done, despite enemy observation. The guns and caissons 
were camouflaged on the edge of the woods and the kitchen was 
established. We rested during the entire day, although the drivers, 
as always, had their extra share of work watering and feeding their 
horses, and the cooks and K. P.'s must needs postpone their rest to 
provide for mess. 

At night active firing on the part of Allied guns, together with 
bombing on near-by hills by German planes, made matters very 
lively. This disturbance we met with extraordinary equanimity, but 
our tempers were soon entirely shattered by a rapid succession of six 
gas alarms. The first two were received by immediate adjustment of 
masks, both on ourselves and on the horses, but toward the third and 
fourth we became provoked, then coldly indifferent, and finally al- 
together disgusted with the over-anxious gas guards, who seemed to 
think that poison fumes might fall from every passing cloud. The 
alarms originated at some distance and spread with lightning rapid- 
ity over miles of territory, whether there was any shelling going on 
or not. These, and the other alarms with which we had been con- 
tinually afl[licted, contributed nothing to gas discipline, for we tended 
to disregard the blood-curdling admonitions which Captain Dick 
and others had given us while we were in training, by considering all 
alarms false. 

The day following our arrival was spent chiefly in cleaning up the 
materiel, grooming and caring for the tired horses, and policing the 
woods for the establishment of a permanent, habitable echelon. 
Lieutenant Reid, accompanied by Mongeon, went forward with the 
colonel and the major on reconnaissance for a position. Upon his 
return early in the evening, he told us about the activity of the hostile 
firing with which the party had come into dangerous contact, and we 
remember well our feelings when he said, "We are in for the real 
stuff this time," and laughingly cautioned us to make our wills. 




]E were at last to have the opportunity, so long expected, 
of entering into active campaigning. The wondering 
uncertainty at the time of our induction, the long 
months of "child's play" at Camp Upton, the momen- 
tous interlude of our transatlantic voyage, the gruel- 
ling intensive training at Camp de Souge, the mild 
introduction to, and brief acquaintance with the 
peaceful, indeed delightful, warfare of the Lorraine 
sector, and the tedious trip from Baccarat to the Nesle woods, — all 
these were the mere prelude to the more important experiences which 
are still to be recounted. With our arrival at the Vesle sector we 
launched into the period of our greatest usefulness as a fighting unit, 
and that period, as we were to discover, extended over many weeks. 
According to reports, four enemy divisions were directly opposed 
to the Seventy-seventh on the sector assigned to it, that sector ex- 
tending from Mont Notre Dame, on the left, through Villesavoye 
in the direction of Fismes. On our left were French troops; on our 
right, the 28th Division. We relieved the American 4th Division 
and the French 62d Division, our battery taking the place of the 13th 
Field Artillery. 

On August 14th, the day after our arrival, unpleasant rumors were 
current that we might expect an air attack during the ensuing night, 
and as a precaution against such an emergency, orders were given 
to strike tents and move from the open, exposed hillside into the 
woods, where the trees and other obstacles might afford some slight 
degree of protection. Many, to avoid the overwhelming stench of the 
woods, slept along the edge of them under the wagons and guns, while 
others sought a rather strange means of safety by reclining under the 
caissons loaded with high-explosive shell. A number of men remained 
in the open, willing to brave any number of bombs rather than spend 
the night inhaling the effluvious odor of putrefying Germans that 
pervaded the woods. The expected attack materialized, but was 
chiefly directed against the village of Nesle, to the right rear of our 
encampment. While the bombs were not close enough to harm us. 



their flash and explosion seemed all too near for comfort, and the 
droning of the night-raider, unpleasantly invisible, accentuated our 
feeling of insecurity. 

On the morning of the 15th, Lieutenant Reid went forward to 
reconnoitre. He was accompanied by several men of the special 
detail, for the purpose of establishing a system of communication 
between the gun position, the P. C, Battery "B," and other points. 
Lieutenant Reid returned alone in the afternoon, and ordered the 
first, second, fifth, and sixth gun crews to move forward that night 
with guns number one and number two. 

It was determined not to advance by the main highways, for these 
were being constantly shelled, though, to be sure, all roads were 
receiving their share of explosives. The relief was conducted with 
no casualties so far as we were concerned, but the 13th Field Artillery 
suffered severe losses both in men and horses. Progress was slow, 
tedious, and nerve-racking, for the trip was made in the dark, over 
unfamiliar roads, with bombing planes hovering overhead. Several 
false gas alarms necessitated our halting to adjust our masks. 
Apparently the gas sentries were not trained to distinguish between 
klaxon alarms, which were signals for local attacks, signals not to 
be passed on, and other alarms, such as the Strombos horn, which 
were general, to be picked up and passed on by every guard within 
earshot. In consequence, many local alarms were relayed over large 
areas, to the unnecessary inconvenience of all and to the detriment 
of gas discipline. However, instruction and experience soon relieved 
the sentries of their unwarranted anxiety and overcautiousness, and 
eliminated much of the trouble. 

As the detachment rumbled slowly down a hill overlooking our 
future gun emplacements, we were the spectators of as lively an 
artillery duel as we were ever to witness. On all sides, as far as the 
eye could see, both heavy and light guns were roaring and spurting 
out tongues of flame. The din was terrific, and the flashes near at 
hand were momentarily blinding, while the whistle and crash of 
exploding shell added to the noise and excitement. Were we scared? 
We were ! 

We reached the position assigned to us about midnight. It was 
situated on the crest of a hill in a small orchard composed of a double 
row of trees, about twenty-five feet apart, which ran almost parallel 
to the front. Adjoining the orchard, and separated from it by a nar- 
row dirt road, was a large patch of woods containing many fox-holes 
and a few small shallow dugouts. Preparation for heaving the guns 
into position was begun immediately. Revetments for the trail spades 

[693 



were dug and camouflage nets erected, while the caissons which had 
brought up ammunition were unloaded and their contents carried to 
the guns and camouflaged. With these matters attended to and all 
signs of our occupation of the position concealed, so far as possible, 
from enemy observation, we lay down at five o'clock in the morning 
for a few hours of well-earned sleep. 

In the late afternoon of the i6th the first and second pieces fired 
twenty rounds for adjustment, using a large quarry situated in the 
enemy lines at Paars as an adjustment point. That night the remain- 
ing four gun crews arrived with the other two howitzers. 

Day and night the Germans shelled the neighborhood. One eve- 
ning a shell landed on a powder dump of one of our batteries of 75's 
just ahead of us, and the sky was brilliantly lighted up by the result- 
ing fire. The Germans took particular interest in a battery of six-inch 
rifles located a hundred yards from us. The rifies were so well hidden 
that they defied discovery, and the desperate efforts made to find 
their exact location and to put them out of commission failed com- 
pletely. On the morning of the 17th, we witnessed an air fight be- 
tween two American ships and one German. The Americans were 
flying back from hostile territory and had reached a point a short 
distance to our rear when the German plane, soaring unnoticed far 
above them, suddenly swept down with terrific speed and opened fire. 
Both Americans were brought to earth, plunging, nose down, to land 
with tragic consequences. One made an almost successful eft'ort to 
right himself, but failed, and followed the other aviator to his death. 
Much of our time was spent in watching such proceedings as these, 
but we had plenty of work to keep us otherwise occupied — improve- 
ment of our inadequate dugouts, work on the guns, hauling am- 
munition, and the reinforcement of the P. C. dugout directly in rear 
of the guns. The last was occupied by the telephone men on duty, 
one of whom was always at the switchboard, night and day. Though 
constructed primarily for the battery commander, Lieutenant Reid 
slept in the open at the guns, while the rest of the battery lived in 
the adjoining woods. 

With the four guns we fired a second time for adjustment, again 
using the quarry as a target. We also entertained the Boche with a 
little harassing fire, but not for long. From beyond the hill in front 
of our position six sausage balloons were peering at us most in- 
quisitively, and shortly our shots were politely answered by a few 
scattered shell, some of which were quite plainly addressed to us. 
Firing was suspended at Lieutenant O'Connor's command, and then 
resumed. German aeroplanes were now flying near by, and there 



was some hesitation as to whether we should continue our operations. 
The few shell seemed to indicate a bracket, and since the aeroplanes 
appeared dangerously interested in us, we ceased firing and left the 
vicinity of the guns. Our caution was justified, for at evening mess 
hour (we thought that Germans would at least be considerate of 
our digestions) a bombardment commenced which, in its early stages, 
gave promise of annihilating the entire American army. We watched 
the shelling from a distance of fifty yards or so until one shell burst 
within thirty yards of the kitchen, at which our curiosity was sud- 
denly and fully satisfied. We made haste to seek cover and lay in the 
meager security of our shallow earthen defenses for half an hour 
while the shell rained around our guns a few yards away. As 
evidence attesting German mastery of the air, a Boche aeroplane with 
Allied markings circled overhead during the whole bombardment 
without any opposition whatsoever and successfully directed the 
fire against our emplacements. Fortunately no shell were sent into 
the woods, although one burst at their edge and wounded a horse 
which had subsequently to be shot. The guns fared worse, for 
number two was badly scratched and the first piece put completely 
out of action by a fragment which pierced the cradle and penetrated 
the recoil cylinder. 

Lieutenant Reid, returning from the echelon with Lieutenant 
Grahn and Rosenberg, noticed the bombardment from a distance, 
and was told by Captain Kirkpatrick at the first aid station that 
Battery "A" was being shelled. Turning over his horse to Rosen- 
berg with instructions to him and Lieutenant Grahn to seek cover. 
Lieutenant Reid started alone for the position on the run. Lieutenant 
Grahn immediately followed him, and regardless of personal danger, 
they joined the battery. The fire had slackened somewhat by the 
time they reached us, and ceased a few minutes later. Lieutenant 
Reid's first question was for the men. It was then that he said he 
never favored the position because, perched on the top of a hill, it 
was badly exposed. Superiors overruled, however, and possibly with 
good reason, since there were lamentably few adequate positions in 
the area assigned to our regiment. Orders were issued to strengthen 
our dugouts still further. 

At midnight all the pieces were withdrawn from the orchard and 
pulled along a side road, where they were safely hidden under the 
camouflage of trees and shrubbery. The problem arose as to where 
our next emplacement should be. On Sunday, August i8th, Lieuten- 
ant Reid made a reconnaissance. He rejected the forward edge of a 
patch of woods some three hundred yards to our rear as being a 

C70 



positive invitation to destruction. This exact spot had been riddled 
with shell with disastrous effects to an outfit of engineers who had 
previously occupied it. Food, equipment, photographs, and letters, 
scattered about the place, were indicative of their hasty withdrawal, 
and the condition of the trees and the ground and the unbearable 
odor of half-buried horses gave evidence of the intensity of the fire 
which had driven them out. It was finally determined to lay the 
guns just outside the left rear edge of the wooded patch, as good a 
location as the area afforded, while the battery with the kitchen and 
P. C. occupied the woods themselves, despite the aforementioned 
drawbacks. 

In point of invisibility the gun emplacements were excellent, but 
the soil proved to be too soggy to sustain the recoil pressure. During 
the night our three available guns (number one had been sent to the 
mobile repair shop) were hauled down the road, across a field, and into 
their respective positions by way of a small, sturdy, log bridge which 
we constructed over a drainage ditch running across the front of the 
position. On the follov/ing day revetments v/ere built and reinforced 
with heavy logs. Mats, made of saplings fastened together, were 
constructed and placed under the wheels to prevent the heavy pieces 
from sinking into the marshy ground. We fired a few rounds and 
soon discovered that both revetments and mats were poor substitutes 
for hard soil and would give us unending trouble. These con- 
structions were, however, only a part of the difficulties we encoun- 
tered at this position. Indeed, our lives were made miserable by a 
chain of misfortunes which we can never forget, by an adversity of 
circumstances which leaves us exhausted even in the reminiscence 
of them, for, added to the constant labor of renovating the revet- 
ments with more logs and boulders and with innumerable sand-bags, 
filled in the woods and carried to the guns, we had a continual stream 
of ammunition to haul by hand, and to sustain us in our incessant 
work we were supplied with the poorest kind of rations, poor in 
quantity as well as quality. To carry sand-bags all day and am- 
munition half the night, and, after a few hours of unrefreshing sleep, 
to wake up to an unsavory breakfast of mouldy bread, weak coffee, 
and a dash of beans or bacon, was not a happy experience. Repeat- 
ing this schedule for several days in succession was enervating, to say 
the least. To turn adversity into calamity, we were unable to con- 
tinue the system of gun-crew shifts, whereby each crew got its share 
of rest, for the entire battery was needed to keep the unit in fighting 
trim. 

On August 19th the battery lost a popular officer in Lieutenant 

1:72] 



Herschel C. Tritt, who had joined us at Baccarat. He had been trans- 
ferred to Battery "B," and on the same day was sent forward to the 
battalion observation post. The observation post consisted of a 
platform located in the upper branches of a tall tree at the base of 
which was a small dugout used to shelter those at the post who were 
not actually engaged in observing. A bad feature of the place was 
that it had been previously a German post, and, as such, was doubt- 
less plotted on German artillery maps to receive the careful future 
consideration of Boche guns. Fichtner and Warren went forward to 
do some carpentry work, while Major Dick and Lieutenant Grahn 
were with Lieutenant Tritt on observation duty. A battery of 75's 
to the rear of the post drew a good deal of fire in that direction, and 
because shell were bursting at close range, the men descended from 
the tree to seek cover in the dugout. As they climbed down, a shell 
exploded almost at the foot of the tree, and fragments struck Lieu- 
tenant Tritt, Kane, Fisk, Merritt, and Warren. Lieutenant Tritt 
was hit in the side just above his cartridge belt, and pitched into the 
arms of Mitchell, who held him until he could be carefully lowered 
to the ground. He lost consciousness immediately. An infantry 
doctor was summoned and gave him such treatment as he could, but 
the wound was deep and in a vital spot, and Lieutenant Tritt died 
soon after he was taken away in an ambulance. Kane (battalion 
detail) also died, and the others who were hit were sent to the 
hospital. 

Though Lieutenant Tritt, at the time of his death, was not, 
technically speaking, in Battery "A," yet virtually he was one of us, 
and we shall always feel his death as a direct loss to Battery "A." 
Many of us did not know him well, for he was assigned to echelon 
duty and seldom came to the gun emplacements, yet those of us who 
knew him at all were attracted by his cheerful nature, his ever-present 
smile, and the perfect consideration which he showed us all. We at 
once liked and respected him because he combined humaneness and 
discipline. It is a strange coincidence that, while talking to Lieuten- 
ant Reid before leaving for the post, he said, "Well, here's where 
I get mine." The news was a great shock to Lieutenant Reid. He 
kept saying over and over that he could hardly believe that Tritt 
was gone. 

Another casualty occurred about this time when Sorries, dispatched 
to the observation post with rations, was struck in the neck by a 
shell fragment. He was removed to the hospital with a wound 
which, though very serious, happily was not fatal. He rejoined the 
battery at Dancevoir after the armistice. 

[73;] 



Our chief accomplishment in this position was the shelling of the 
Tannerie situated near Fismes. The Tannerie concealed numerous 
machine-guns which had checkmated every effort of our infantry to 
advance and capture the place. The demolition of this hotbed of 
resistance was the task allotted to the 306th Field Artillery, the 
bombardment to occur between eight and nine in the evening of the 
2 1 St, after which the infantry was to advance and occupy the spot. 
Lieutenant Reid personally directed the fire, and went from gun to 
gun, constantly satisfying himself that the operations were going 
smoothly. In the last few minutes of the hour he stood beside the 
telephone (back of the third piece), and when asked by the gun 
sergeants whether they should take time to swab the bore, he 
promptly called out through the darkness, 'Two minutes to go. 
Never mind the bore. Give 'em hell!" 

In the midst of the firing there occurred a combination of incidents 
which we cannot but think constituted our final undoing. A battery 
of the 1 19th Field Artillery, moving back from a forward position, 
decided to encamp on the back edge of our woods, and proceeded to 
ensconce themselves the more easily by using flash-lights and 
matches. We presently heard the uneven drone of a Boche plane, 
and suddenly a flare bomb, dropping next to our patch of woods, lit 
up the gun position and the ground surrounding it for a hundred 
yards with a light so bright that the Kaiser, sitting at his beer in 
Potsdam, must have thrown back his horns and roared with devilish 
laughter at the sight. Whether we have a right to blame the 1 19th 
Field Artillery for the disclosure of our position and the fierce 
bombardment which we sufi"ered on the following day, it is hard to 
say. The flash of our own guns undoubtedly contributed to the 
calamity, yet the bombardment, when it came, was directed against 
the woods and not against the emplacements. Our careless visitors 
were on the following day to regret their own thoughtlessness as 
much as did we. 

We need no printed pages to recall the appalling events of August 
22d, but this history would be sadly incomplete did it not include 
an account of the tragic culmination of our experiences in this 
position. During the early morning the battery fired a short mission, 
and immediately thereafter set to work repairing the wrecked revet- 
ments. While engaging in this latter task, the fourth gun crew were 
suddenly surprised by the swift whine of a 77, which landed in the 
boggy ground not ten yards to the rear of the fourth piece, the missile 
sinking well into the soft soil and exploding with a harmless shower 
of mud. Another shell burst to the right rear of number two, and a 

:74:] 



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flying fragment struck Helmcke in the small of the back as he stood 
by the field kitchen, twenty yards away. Helmcke was treated by 
Captain Kirkpatrick and was taken away in an ambulance. Approxi- 
mately ten more shell burst during the next twenty minutes, an eclat 
from one of the last of which dealt Siegal a grazing cut on the upper 
lip. There was a let-up at this point, and we interpreted the lull as 
a termination of a brief and scattered bombardment, a reasonable 
conclusion since the Germans often sent across brief though poign- 
ant reminders of their continued existence. Accordingly, we con- 
fidently issued forth from our shelters where we had been ordered 
to conceal ourselves. Siegal called out that he had been hit, and 
Lieutenant Reid accompanied Captain Kirkpatrick to find out the 
nature of his wound and give him what assistance he could. Lieu- 
tenant Reid did not, as has been claimed by some who were not 
there, dash out in the midst of a downpour of steel and carry to 
safety a "fallen comrade." We are glad to think that Siegal would 
not have called for medical attention had the shell been falling with 
any great intensity, and that Lieutenant Reid, intrepid as we knew 
him to be, would not have foolhardily thrown away his life in such 
a bombardment as was soon to follow, in which to defy destruction 
by crossing the woods on a futile mission of doubtful utility would 
have been to escape death only by a miracle. Suffice it to say that 
divinely directed miracles have little place in the thoughts of persons 
subjected to fierce shell-fire. None of us during that downfall of 
splintered steel possessed so exaggerated a consideration of our mu- 
tual well-being that we walked about the woods inquiring after each 
other's health. A lapse of ten minutes or more enabled Captain 
Kirkpatrick to finish the treatment of Siegal's lip, but as he admin- 
istered the final touches to the dressing the bombardment recom- 
menced and this time with a fury that sent us flying for shelter. 
Lieutenant Reid turned to make a dash for the P. C, and Captain 
Kirkpatrick, who was sitting on the edge of Siegal's splinter-pit, 
jumped in beside his patient. Graney was standing beside Lieuten- 
ant Reid, and as they both turned to return to their respective cov- 
erts a shell landed a few yards away. Both dropped to the ground 
as the projectile exploded, but got up immediately, Graney to leap 
into the nearest fox-hole. Lieutenant Reid to make another attempt 
to reach the P. C. According to Graney, Lieutenant Reid, doubtless 
seeing that he might not safely make his objective, made a quick 
dash and a long baseball slide to the nearest splinter-pit on the way. 
The latter happened to have been the one vacated by Graney when 
the lull in the bombardment occurred. Private Eck, who was also 

:75] 



in it, did not get out when the let-up came, and so was there when 
Lieutenant Reid slid in. 

The shots which landed earlier in the morning were, of course, for 
adjustment, and now that the Germans had our range they proceeded 
to pour over a steady stream of gas and high explosives at a terrific 
rate. For thirty-five minutes, from 1 1.40 a.m. to 12.15 p.m., the air 
was filled with the whistle and explosion of shell and with the whine 
of flying fragments as they flicked the dirt outside our shallow 
splinter-pits, or pattered through the branches of the trees. Occa- 
sionally, in a momentary calm, we could hear a splatter of dirt falling 
to earth and could distinguish the dull thud of a dud, but otherwise 
the noise was so deafening and continuous that we could not dis- 
tinguish one shell from another, or tell exactly how close they were 
landing to our individual retreats. It is interesting to remember our 
thoughts and actions under the strain of that crisis. Our dugouts were 
small and shallow, and wholly inadequate to withstand direct hits, 
many of them being merely covered with a few branches, a shelter- 
half, and a sprinkle of dirt as proof against flying splinters, and, 
though it was a vitally solemn matter at the time, it is now amusing 
to recall our frantic calculations to determine what posture we might 
best adopt, into what knot we might best tie ourselves, in what cor- 
ner of our small defenses we might best hide our heads, in order to be 
the more safe from the terrific onslaught of approaching projectiles. 
Surely, one would think, it would diminish the chances of destruction 
if one's arms were made to cover the head, but when that posture was 
taken, one would discover that the heart was dangerously exposed 
and would quickly and tensely lower the arms across the chest. Every 
portion of the body seemed in particular peril of immediate dis- 
memberment, and with every crash the meager protection of our tiny 
dugouts seemed terrifyingly insufficient. We could not agree with 
Shakespeare that "There's nothing serious in mortality." 

The Germans, in accordance with their practice in such cases, 
mixed gas and high-explosive shell. We had been taught to detect 
gas shell by their peculiar sound on exploding, but amidst the excite- 
ment and roar of the attack we were caught unawares, though many 
of us had the forethought to adjust our masks at the very outset. 
Corporal Kopp, as gas N. C. O., detected gas and sounded the alarm 
again and again, as also did Pedicine, who, stationed as gas guard, 
remained at his post to the rear of the woods during the entire 
bombardment; but many did not hear the alarms on account of the 
constant explosions, and got their lungs well filled with poison fumes 

1:763 



before adjusting their masks. Some had left their masks where they 
could not get them and were totally without protection. 

After an eternity of frightful tumult, an infinity of nervous tension, 
the bombardment ceased, and the silence which followed seemed 
almost as severe on our nerves as the uproar of bursting shell had 
been. "There reigned a solemn silence over all," and indeed it was 
solemn, for the bombardment came as the exhausting climax of an 
even more exhausting week of gruelling work, deadening sleepless- 
ness, and downright hunger. It needed only the ordeal we had been 
through in the last hour to snap the strings which tied our endurance, 
and when we slowly emerged from our dugouts with our faces cov- 
ered with the gas protectors, it was with lagging steps and dulled 
senses. The crowning misfortune was then disclosed: Lieutenant 
Reid's body was discovered. He was lying on his side with his knees 
drawn slightly up toward his chin. His helmet, covering his face, 
was pierced in several places. Resting by his side and slightly under 
his shoulder, as if Lieutenant Reid had attempted to shield him, was 
Private Eck. It was some time before Eck could be identified. On 
the forward edge of the fox-hole in one corner was a deep groove in- 
dicating where the shell had struck. It had been a direct hit of a 
gas shell, and the explosion had killed both instantly. The branches 
which had composed the frail roofing of the dugout were completely 
blown away. 

When we most needed a leader there was none. When a clear head 
would have brought order out of chaos, when a commanding per- 
sonality would have dispelled the awful lassitude which possessed us 
in reaction to the bombardment, there was nothing to meet our crying 
wants. Lieutenant O'Connor, emerging from his dugout, announced 
that masks might be removed, and, because the gas was still hovering 
in the atmosphere, Corporal Kopp immediately yelled through his 
mask that he did not want to see a single man remove his protector. 
Lieutenant O'Connor went to the First Aid Station as a gas patient. 
The most sensible order came over the telephone from Colonel Smith, 
who gave instructions that the woods be cleared of all men except 
a detail who were to thoroughly search the area for wounded; but 
the execution of the command was sadly mismanaged by all con- 
cerned, and the battery, instead of going by devious routes to a meet- 
ing-place, spread over the neighboring country-side and was not 
assembled again until late in the afternoon. Let orders be hanged 
so long as we got away from that scene of destruction to breathe 
fresh air and lie down somewhere, anywhere, to rest ourselves. 

All we could readily appreciate was that we were very tired and 

1:77] 



hungry, that our eyes and noses were running from the effects of the 
poison gas, and that the woods were not pleasant to look upon. 
During the bombardment, lying as we were in the close confinement 
of our narrow shelter-pits, and not daring to stick out our heads to 
see what was going on, our lives were governed by our ears and our 
imaginations, but coming out of our flimsy caves we were struck at 
once with the sight of devastation which greeted us. Many of the 
trees were scarred and splintered, a few of them leaning against their 
fellows. We sympathized with these latter. They looked tired. A 
number of branches hung listlessly downward, clinging to their tree 
trunks by mere shreds of bark, while others had been lopped off and 
lay scattered over the ground. The ground itself was more broken 
than ever, though it was difficult at a glance to distinguish the old 
craters from the new. Blouses, overcoats, raincoats, pack-carriers, 
saddles, saddle-bags, and a host of other equipment had been tossed 
hither and thither and lay about under the trees, torn and tattered; 
and what signified the violence of the explosions more than any- 
thing else, blankets had been picked up and hurled high into the 
topmost branches of the trees. At the forward part of the woods 
were the ten horses which happened to be at the position at the time. 
Three of them lay dead, their heads hanging from their halter ropes; 
three others were alive but hopelessly mangled, and had to be shot. 
One of the animals was Lieutenant Reid's saddle-horse. The air 
was ^lled with the smarting smell of gas, which, while it had largely 
settled to the ground and into the dugouts just vacated, still hung 
about to keep us coughing and drying the tears from our watering 
eyes, for many of us, after a few minutes, had taken off our masks, 
despite Corporal Kopp's warning, hoping that the gas by that time 
might be dispelled. To add to the horror of the scene the gassed and 
wounded were collected at one edge of the woods, where they were 
undergoing treatment at the hands of Captain Kirkpatrick and his 
assistants. 

Our casualties were two dead, three wounded (besides Helmcke 
and Siegal, Pedicine suffered a severe wound in the breast), and nine- 
teen gassed. While every one of us had felt the effects of the gas, 
only those nineteen were considered by the medical authorities 
as subjects for hospital treatment, and of these, fifteen were returned 
after a few days. The 119th Field Artillery suffered far more se- 
verely than we, though we cannot quote their losses. 

Before we left the woods, details were assigned under Sergeant 
Marriner and Sergeant Dumont to dig graves for Lieutenant Reid 
and Private Eck, and to bury the horses. Sergeant Franklin set 

1:78: 




H.T. Ti$-^ 1921 



i^xL^-b 2 2, 1918 ! 



about repairing broken telephone wires, and an examination of the 
emplacements, conducted by Lieutenant Grahn and Sergeant Field, 
showed that the guns had escaped injury. Lieutenant Armstrong 
arrived at the position and collected some of the men to conduct 
them to Battery "B" to get something to eat, for the bombardment 
had come before noon mess, and the gas had rendered our food in- 
edible. The kitchen, furthermore, was riddled with holes. Another 
detachment of the battery, leaving the rear of the woods in small 
groups, slowly trudged up to the battalion echelon situated on the 
wooded crest of a hill half a mile back, they also in search of food. 
But the battery was not divided into these two detachments alone, 
for many of us straggled out and, so to speak, followed our running 
noses. We were frightfully depressed, and we now believe, had it 
been announced to any of us that the whole American army had 
capitulated, the report would only have elicited a wan smile. Even 
the news of Lieutenant Reid's death did not stir our lassitude to the 
significance we later attached to that tragedy, and surely could our 
disheartened, almost insensible, spirits have been moved at all, it 
would have been by that terrible announcement. We were too listless 
both mentally and physically to appreciate how great a shock it was 
to us. All we could do was to eat what was served us and lie down, 
not caring a trifle whether the German hosts broke through the lines, 
captured the whole division, and submitted us to excruciating 
tortures. 

Meager as were our rations, they helped to revive our spirits to 
a certain extent, and we were able to take a keen interest in an ex- 
citing drama which was enacted not far from the battalion echelon. 
A Boche aeroplane suddenly swooped down, its engine roaring and 
its machine-gun rattling forth a stream of bullets as it plunged at a 
steep angle on an observation balloon floating lazily at its anchor, 
blissfully unconscious of the juggernaut of destruction which had 
been sailing far above in the clouds. Once aware of his danger, the 
observer leaped from the balloon in a parachute, which opened grace- 
fully and carried him to safety. The balloon was quickly lowered, 
while the German plane, defeated in the purpose of its dive, tilted 
to one side, turned toward home, and sailed off. Aside from this 
episode, the afternoon was peacefully uneventful, and we made the 
most of it by resting in the cool of the woods or in the long grass of 
neighboring fields, though we were so weary that even resting was 
tiresome. 

Shortly after four o'clock, burial services for Lieutenant Reid and 
Private Eck were conducted by the chaplain. Lieutenant Thomas. 

:8o] 



The battery had been ordered out of the woods and there were few 
there to attend the ceremony. Captains Dick and Fine, together with 
Lieutenants Grahn, Vollmer, Barker, and Sherrock, were present as 
pall-bearers, and a few men, scattered through the woods, stopped 
the tasks which had brought them there to stand, uncovered, gravely 
watching the ceremony from a distance. Lieutenant Thomas read 
the twenty-third and ninetieth Psalms, and concluded the simple 
service with a prayer. Lieutenant Reid and Private Eck were buried 
side by side, and before we left the position a fence of birch wood 
was constructed around the graves and two crosses erected and be- 
decked with flowers, rough and inadequate expression of our true 
feelings. 

Efforts were made throughout the whole afternoon to assemble the 
battery, but no one seemed to know where any one else was, and 
cared less, so it was not until six o'clock that we finally collected in 
the field back of our position under a row of willows which offered a 
screen against enemy observation. Captain Dick summoned the 
non-commissioned officers to report to him. He emphasized the 
necessity of restoring order from the chaos which prevailed, and 
proffered his conviction that the bombardment did not necessarily 
mean that the Germans had spotted our occupation of the woods, 
but that it was all in a day's work of zone fire. We were skeptical. 
The flare bomb of the previous night was not dropped for the chari- 
table purpose of giving us more light with which to operate our guns. 
The captain may have been right, but we were not convinced, though 
we appreciated his effort to bolster up our morale. 

It is interesting to recall a speech made by the captain in Camp 
Upton months before. In urging the non-coms to prepare them- 
selves by diligent study and hard work for their various duties, he 
told them that they must equip themselves for any emergency, be- 
cause some day any one of them might even be called upon to take 
the place of an officer lost in battle. It was a favorite phrase, and 
one which became a familiar topic of unwarranted ridicule, with 
which he closed his speech at that time. "Some day," he said, "you 
will wake up to find yourself battery commander." How near his 
prophesy came to being realized! Lieutenant Reid had been killed; 
Lieutenant Grahn was absent during the bombardment; and Lieu- 
tenant O'Connor reported to the First Aid Station. The presence of 
Lieutenant Barker alone prevented the command of the battery from 
temporarily descending into the hands of a man of the ranks. 

Lieutenant Barker was authorized to take charge of the organiza- 
tion. Whether he thought that orders were immediately expected of 

:8'] 



him, or that we needed more work to fill out the day, is a mooted 
question, but the fact remains that his first command directed us to 
report to the guns for standing gun drill. Our respect for our new 
commander suffered a severe shock. Our spirits were low enough 
without being aggravated by any such ridiculous farce as the detested 
gun drill which had been the chief thorn in our lives at Camp de 
Souge, and from which we had reason to believe we had graduated. 
Be that as it may. Lieutenant Barker may have had motives which 
we cannot guess. 

Second Lieutenant Gray McWhorter Bryan, of Battery "B," was 
shortly ordered to take command of the battery. 

On August 23d, from 2 to 4 a.m., we fired gas shell into the Berles 
Ravine. It was unfortunate that we could not have had more sleep 
than we were able to get during the night, for the nervous strain of 
the bombardment and the injurious effects of the gas we had all re- 
ceived demanded recuperation for our tired bodies; but the firing 
served the very necessary purpose of convincing us that we must not 
give way to our fatigue, nor allow the morale of the battery to slip 
beyond our control. We were again upon our feet as a fighting unit, 
ready to tackle whatever might come our way, and though we were 
hoarse from the gas and suffered from a lack of water (none had been 
carted into the position since the bombardment), we entered into the 
firing with as much vim as our weariness would allow, the more in- 
tensely because we felt we might be avenging the deaths of Battery 
"A" men. The fourth gun crew were, perhaps, more handicapped 
than the others, because, during part of the operations, there was a 
good deal of gas in their immediate vicinity, due, probably, to a 
leakage in one of their own projectiles, though the fumes may have 
come from enemy shell which were bursting not far away. They fired 
with masks adjusted, and one of them vomited in his protector. When 
the mission was completed, we returned to the willows behind the 
woods. 

During the later hours of the morning an echelon was established 
near the battalion echelon, our refuge of the day before, and here the 
kitchen was placed to keep its telltale smoke away from the vicinity 
of the guns, mess being carried to the back border of our woods in a 
ration cart. 

During the course of the morning we sustained another casualty. 
Private Mongeon, Lieutenant Reid's orderly, led several horses to 
water, and, as he returned, a shell burst on the road near him. The 
horse he was riding and one other were killed, and a large fragment 
struck Mongeon full in the chest, killing him instantly. He was 



buried close to where he fell, and a cross erected to mark the grave. 
Mongeon was a great loss. We all liked him for his modest ways and 
genial nature, liked him all the more because he was a good soldier 
and a fine fellow. It was a sobering matter to have our friends taken 
from us, and with three of our number gone to their final rest, and 
many more in the hospital, it was not strange that we asked our- 
selves : 

"Could it ever have been, I wonder, 

That the barking guns were still. 
That no one could hear their thunder 

Rolling from plain to hill; 
That a man might sleep in the morning, 

Sleep with his dreams set free 
From the endless flash where the H.E.'s crash. 

With never a reveille? 

"Was there ever a life behind us, 

A life that we knew before, 
With never a shell to find us, 

Crouching in mud and gore; 
With never a pal to bury 

As part of the bitter test. 
With never the cry of a last good-by 

From a mate who is starting West?" 

That night we fired into the town of Bazoches, using 00 charges, 
which proved too powerful for our yielding revetments, though, as 
we afterward learned, we inflicted great damage on our target and 
made matters exceedingly uncomfortable for the Germans. Number 
one had returned from the repair shop and fired from an adjoining 
field next to number four. Number three developed recoil trouble 
and took its turn at the shop. So hopelessly flimsy were the revet- 
ments that it was decided to abandon these emplacements and move 
the howitzers to the firmer ground offered by the open field in back 
of our woods. The transfer was made on the following night. A 
trench running along the rear of the new emplacements and parallel 
to the battery front gave us the opportunity, by digging shelter-pits 
on its inner facing, of securing adequate protection in case of another 
bombardment. The battery commander's post remained in the 
woods, but was enlarged and reinforced with corrugated iron sheets, 
heavy logs, and sand-bags. During the night we fired a few rounds 
on Bazoches, and on the 26th this harassing fire was continued at the 
slow rate of two shots an hour. 

1:833 



On the 24th, Lieutenant O'Connor departed for the States with 
Lieutenants Pitman and Armstrong, former officers of the battery. 
Three days later, Sergeant Baecker left for the artillery school at 
Saumur, and Sergeant Welch was appointed first sergeant. Sergeants 
Welch and Field were recommended through Divisional Headquar- 
ters for commissions as second lieutenants, due to the shortage of 
officers in the regiment, but the recommendations were not recognized 
by General Headquarters because A.E.F. regulations forbade direct 
promotions from the ranks without attendance at an officers' training 
camp. On September ist, Lieutenant Bryan was promoted to the 
grade of first lieutenant, and on the 4th of the month Lieutenant 
Charles F. Balph was assigned to the battery. On the latter date we 
were deprived of the last of our Camp Upton oflicers, for Lieutenant 
Grahn was transferred to the Supply Company. We felt the loss more 
than it was our place to express, though the transfer meant promo- 
tion which we could not begrudge our friend. Lieutenant Grahn pos- 
sessed those qualities which we so admired in the other of our old line 
officers. He associated with the men, yet, despite that fact, and in- 
deed rather because of it, he commanded our respect and loyalty. 

Our attention in this position, our third in the sector, was directed 
chiefly against Bazoches, a vital spot in the German lines and one 
which completely checked our advance. An infantry attack was or- 
dered for the early morning of the 27th, and at 4 a.m. we assisted in 
laying down a barrage and in blowing up machine-gun nests, the prin- 
cipal obstacles to our progress; but our infantry was unable to occupy 
the town. From the afternoon of the next day until 4 p.m. of the 
30th we teased the Germans with harassing fire at the rate of four 
rounds per hour, once stopping long enough to shoot twenty-six 
rounds into the chateau in the center of Bazoches. After we had fired 
fifteen rounds for adjustment on the afternoon of the 31st, a German 
plane flew boldly over our emplacements at so low a level that we 
could plainly see the features of the aviators, and we at once had 
visions of another onslaught from the Boche artillery. On September 
I St we fired twice, once for adjustment and once for demolition, and 
on the following two days sent over a total of one hundred and fifteen 
shell, largely for the further leveling of Bazoches. 

Our infantry finally captured the town, and the German retreat 
from the Vesle to the Aisne began, the Seventy-seventh artillery clat- 
tering after its dough-boys to lend them a helping hand. On the 
dark rainy night of September 4th, we rolled packs, pulled out the 
howitzers, which were comfortably ensconced in barricaded emplace- 
ments that they doubtless were loath to leave, and waited by the 

1^41 



roadside from ten until after one before starting on our forward 
journey. The roads were in poor condition and congested with traffic, 
so we made only a short distance before daylight suspended the 
march. We drew up alongside a wood on the crest of a hill over- 
looking the Vesle River, and there concealed ourselves and the rolling 
stock as best we could. After a day and a night without sleep we top- 
pled down wherever a soft spot offered a bed and slept as if our eyes 
were glued. At 7 p.m. the march was resumed, and with the red 
glow of a radiant sunset on one side of us and the rumble of thunder 
and flash of lightning to the east, we set off dov/n the hill on a narrow 
winding road which was much the worse for wear. Darkness soon 
overtook us and, without any light whatsoever, the long descent into 
the valley of the Vesle proved to be a dangerous matter, demanding 
the utmost skill of the drivers in handling their horses. Our progress 
in the valley itself was even slower, for the roads here were slippery 
with heavy mud and broken with treacherous shell holes. Number 
four, in crossing the railroad tracks, skidded on the muddy rails and 
was almost ditched. The caisson of number four failed to avoid a 
deep shell hole, dropped into it, and was left under guard until morn- 
ing. In crossing the plank bridge which our engineers had built over 
the Vesle, and which the Germans were shelling with shrapnel at the 
moment, number two crashed through one of the railings and nar- 
rowly escaped plunging into the river. The fourgon wagons missed 
the road and crossed the river by another bridge. As the train 
passed through the town of Bazoches, dark as it was, we could see 
the destruction which our guns had wrought. There was no question 
that the title of "The Wreckers of Bazoches," which the 306th Field 
Artillery had received, was justly earned. 

Our new position was directly beside the broad Rheims-Soissons 
highway, which cut along the steep hill in front of Bazoches. Here, 
on the forward side of the road, we placed the howitzers, tilting their 
muzzles well in the air for a high trajectory over the incline in front 
of them. The horses were kept in dilapidated and extremely obnox- 
ious stables several hundred yards to the left of the guns, while the 
men housed themselves in the huge shell-proof dugouts and shacks 
under the brow of the hill. There is little to recount of our experi- 
ences in this position, for the battery was temporarily in reserve and 
did no firing, though we handled a deal of ammunition and went to 
some trouble in preparing the guns for an emergency mission. The 
drivers, however, were active in cleaning out their stables and in 
hauling ammunition both for Battery "A" and for the batteries in 
action. As always, their work was hard and regular, and while not 

[853 



usually as strenuous as that of the cannoneers, they seldom got the 
complete rest which the latter enjoyed when the guns were once fixed 
and no firing engaged their further attention. Our quarters, while 
not sumptuous, were for the most part safe from enemy shell, and 
offered an opportunity for long nights of sleep which restored our 
sunken spirits to a reasonably high state and brought relief to our 
fatigue. The food supply, however, was scanty, and we might have 
suffered had we not been able to supplement our rations with so-called 
"French toast," an indigestible concoction of fried bread and sugar, 
the supplies for which we obtained from a decimated machine-gun 
company which had more provisions than its depleted ranks could 
consume. Despite the German shell which daily fell on Bazoches 
and the roads running into it, many of us ventured over the surround- 
ing country to investigate the ruins about us. It was horrifying to 
see the number of dead we found strewn along the railroad tracks and 
over the open fields of the valley, yet in a way it was satisfying to 
look on the ruined buildings of the town. To accomplish the destruc- 
tion of these we had gone through cruel hardships, and to have found 
them standing untouched would have been positively disappointing. 

On September 6th, Lieutenant Thomas H. Hogg was assigned to 
the battery, and on the loth, Lieutenant William J. Shearer. 

On the night of the loth, the battery began its active participation 
in the Oise-Aisne offensive by moving to a more advanced position 
about a mile away. Only the third and fourth pieces went forward, 
for guns number one and number two were out of commission, both 
having trouble with their recoils and elevation racks. We moved 
into emplacements already dug, though apparently they had been 
used for smaller guns. We improved them by deepening and extend- 
ing the revetments and by building firm platforms. The small open 
field to our rear was riddled with shell holes, a gentle reminder that 
we had best look about for secure dugouts; but these were lacking 
and we were compelled to put up with small pits. We reinforced the 
latter in our spare moments, but at best they would have afforded 
only meager protection in case of a bombardment. Luckily the Ger- 
mans were too busy retiring to the Chemin des Dames to bother with 
such as we. 

In the afternoon of the i ith, from 6.30 until 7.15, twenty-one shots 
for adjustment were fired by direct observation on a church steeple 
in Pargnan. The slopes of La Petite Montague were populated with 
machine-guns which proved a great stumbling-block to the infantry, 
and, in response to a call, we raked these slopes with our fire the en- 
tire afternoon of the 12th, despatching a total of one hundred and 

C86] 



seventy-five rounds. On the forty-fifth round the third piece went 
out of order, and shortly thereafter was sent to the shop for repairs 
on its elevating rack. 

In the meantime the men at the echelon (still retained on the 
Rheims-Soissons highway) were having a comparatively placid exist- 
ence, though several circumstances tended to upset their equanimity. 
Sergeant Marriner continued to plod away at his ammunition detail 
and the drivers fumed at their horses, wondering why heavy artil- 
lery was not drawn by inanimate and less bothersome means of loco- 
motion. Sergeant Mueller was despatched two kilometers to the rear 
to establish an echelon, a fact which seemed to verify persistent ru- 
mors that the Seventy-seventh Division was due for a long rest and 
would be relieved in the near future. On the night of the 13th, we 
were disturbed by a German bombing expedition. Tons of heavy 
bombs were dropped on Bazoches and the surrounding roads, many 
of the missiles being directed against the cross-roads not far from 
our dugouts. 

On the afternoon of September 14th, orders came relieving us from 
the sector, although the fourth piece was commanded to remain for 
further firing. At 5.30 p.m. the march began by way of Bazoches. 
It was with considerable elation that we left the lines that night, 
bound, as rumor claimed, for clean barracks, hot baths, new equip- 
ment, and blessed freedom from the cooties. Few of us had had a 
good washing since our swim in the Marne over a month before, and 
we had done a deal of perspiring in the meantime. But rumor had 
it, too, that rest camps were not quite the havens of peace and com- 
fort we had in our mind's eye. Some insisted that, while relieving 
men from the stress of battle, they inflicted the worse evil of inces- 
sant daily drilling (enough to strike terror to the heart of the most 
courageous soldier), the idea being that men so treated would joy- 
fully welcome a return to the lines at the appointed time. Such re- 
ports, however, though they may have held weight with some, were 
either entirely ignored or overshadowed by our enthusiasm at the 
prospect of being near civilization again. We wanted to get away to 
some place, any place, where towns were not in ruins, where whistling 
shell did not make us hunch our shoulders, and where stores could 
ofi"er a few of those non-essentials so prized by soldiers at the front. 
Perhaps, who could tell, we might actually sit down at a table and 
order a meal. There was also the primitive desire to be among women 
and children, and greatest of our needs, though possibly least in our 
thoughts, the necessity of relaxing from the physical and nervous 



strain we had been under since our departure from the Lorraine 
sector. 

If the main part of the battery was glad to leave the Vesle, then 
the detachment which remained with the fourth piece were radiantly 
happy, and ready, had they not been too tired, to give exultant halle- 
lujahs as they left the position after completing the mission which 
kept them there. It is only fair that a page or two be devoted to 
their experiences during the interval of two days before they rejoined 
the battery, for not only were they subjected to one of the most ex- 
hausting periods of work ever imposed upon any men of Battery "A," 
but also the fourth gun was the only one which remained in action 
throughout our participation in the Oise-Aisne offensive. We might 
add that it was the only howitzer which was never at the repair shop 
during our possession of the guns. 

On the 13th, harassing fire was directed against various targets on 
the slopes of La Petite Montagne, and by evening the fourth crew 
expected that their work for the day was concluded, and that they 
would either sleep at the gun or be relieved by the eighth crew, who 
were at the echelon with Lieutenant Bryan and the remaining drivers. 
But there was no let-up, and there began a long night of constant 
firing which none of them will soon forget. A total of three hundred 
and thirty-five rounds were shot from the single gun. The oft- 
repeated concussion and deafening roar of the howitzer was in itself 
enough to loosen the joints of any man and give him the novel sen- 
sation of seeming to fall to pieces. Had all worked smoothly the 
ordeal would have been less distressing, but the actual concussion of 
the report was only a circumstance of their trials. The firing was 
so continuous that the breech became more and more clogged with 
powder residue. Lieutenant Barker did not want to give orders to 
take it down and clean it, for the telephone kept the crew constantly 
occupied with preparations for new problems to fire, and a hurry call 
might have caught them unready. Every man except the gunner 
took a turn at number one's position until he was exhausted from 
slamming the breech. To add to their troubles, the crew had to 
carry over two hundred of the projectiles and most of the powder 
from the adjacent emplacements vacated by the other guns, because 
the supply at their own pit was soon exhausted. The night light gave 
out, and a substitute in the form of a weak pocket flash-light gave 
the gunner considerable difficulty in keeping up the pace for which 
the rapid firing called. With all their troubles the crew made super- 
human efforts to preserve Battery "A" 's reputation, and very nearly 
succeeded in firing all the three hundred and thirty-five rounds on 

[88;] 



schedule, the breech causing several unavoidable delays. On the 
following morning the eighth crew under Sergeant Dumont relieved 
Sergeant Gray and his tired men, and used up what little ammunition 
remained on hand. In the afternoon the "A" crew, who had spent 
the day at the echelon, returned to the gun position and pitched tents 
considerably to the right and well above the emplacement on the 
wooded slope of a steep hill. The men got to sleep as early as could 
be, since they had had practically no rest for two days and nights. 

The morning of the 15th was uneventful, but in the afternoon 
preparations were made to move out. With the loading of four- 
gon wagons and G. S. carts, piled high with packs, special detail 
equipment, and kitchen utensils, the party was ready for the march 
at dusk. The narrow muddy road leading to the main highway was 
blocked with troops of the Italian 8th Division, come to relieve 
the Seventy-seventh, and it was 10.30 p.m. before the detachment 
could move out from the treacherous, shell-ridden field back to the 
emplacement. Only a few hundred yards of the road had been trav- 
ersed when the pole of the gun limber snapped in two, and another 
delay of an hour ensued while a tree was obtained in the vicinity and 
lashed to the limber, an improvisation which later proved disastrous. 
At midnight the train turned to the left toward Fismes, down the 
road to Rheims. It reached the outskirts of Fismes, and here luck 
forsook them again, for in pulling to the right to allow for traffic, 
the howitzer, by reason of an angular insertion of the hastily con- 
structed pole, slipped into a deep ditch and remained there until 
morning, despite the united efforts of thirty men, sixteen of our own 
horses, and two teams which a French captain generously oflFered in 
assistance. Rosenberg was sent ahead to notify the Supply Company 
of the predicament, and to direct its motor-trucks to the scene of the 
catastrophe. This assistance never came, and at dawn, after two or 
three hours' sleep, the men were awakened and forthwith jacked the 
gun out of its distorted posture. What seemed hopeless in the ob- 
scurity of night was comparatively easy in the light of morning, and 
the train soon proceeded on its way past dilapidated Fismes and up 
a long hill to the south. St. Gilles and the stubs of burnt barracks, 
which had once been the St. Gilles Hospital, were seen as the 
march continued. The detachment presented a sorry sight as it lum- 
bered up and down the open hills. The fourgons and G. S. carts had 
not stopped to see the howitzer heaved out of the ditch, but had gone 
on their way rejoicing, under the direction of Lieutenant Barker, so 
the howitzer was alone in its glory, rattling and rumbling over the 
dusty hot roads, and grumbling at the eight tired horses as they 



pulled methodically at their taut traces. Lieutenant Bryan was 
mounted in advance of the miniature column, the men straggling be- 
hind the gun, hanging on to any part of it which might offer a means 
of being towed, or bracing themselves to carry on without giving the 
horses additional weight to tug. 

At noon a long halt was made to take a rest and to beg food from 
an infantry outfit encamped beside the road, for the men had had 
nothing to eat since the previous afternoon. The company mentioned, 
however, considered that charity begins at home, and had nothing to 
spare but a few rusty hardtack, which were devoured in less time than 
it takes to write of it. The only other source of nourishment lay 
in a can of meat and two cans of beans in the possession of Lieuten- 
ant Bryan and Sergeant Gibbons. The meat was bad! Two cans of 
beans do not make a healthy meal for thirty ravenous men, and Lieu- 
tenant Bryan wisely decided that only ten should participate in the 
coveted feast, eight of whom were to be chosen by lot. His proposal 
that Sergeant Gibbons be one of the other two was tacitly conceded. 
The official suggestion that he himself be included among the fortu- 
nate ten, because he had donated part of the repast, may have, in his 
own mind, preserved his rights and the dignity of his rank, but in 
the minds of the human beings before him, his "rights" were 
in conflict with his duty to see his men cared for and his dignity 
was dragged in the mud. An officer who uses his authority for selfish 
ends to the deprivation of his men does not command the loyalty and 
respect which are vital to high morale and willing subservience to 
discipline. We repeat the phrase used once before, that we were 
American fighters and not Prussian soldiers. However, as the march 
continued. Lieutenant Bryan generously bought some macaroons 
from a Y. M. C. A. Ford and distributed them among the men. 
Enough could not be had to more than tease their appetites, but 
macaroons never tasted better. We imagine that they must have 
been digested in half a minute. After hiking all afternoon the party 
was finally picked up by trucks and conducted the last two kilometers 
to the regimental encampment about that distance from Cierges. 

The detachment immediately gorged themselves with the remains 
of the battery mess, the only solid meal they had had for over twenty- 
four hours, and the only one they were to get for another eighteen. 
They had hiked about twenty-five kilometers and were to join the 
battery that same night in twenty more. In forty-eight hours they 
got only six hours of sleep to sustain them on these two marches. It 
was a bad start for the long hike to the Argonne. 

[90] 



Rumors, Rumors, Rumors 

BY VERNON B. SMITH 

It's sometimes borne on the morning breeze that blows from the 

S.O.S.; 
It rides as well on the screaming shell in the Argonne wilderness; 
It's often heard in the hum of a plane, as it drones and sings like a 

bee, 
And now and then it is told to the men by the Major's orderly. 
A chauflfeur often brings it in and it spreads like a raging fire. 
Or Rumor Barnes, with his false alarms, hears it come over the wire; 
At times the wireless picks it up and a Sergeant says it's true; 
Again it springs from the lad who brings our meat for the daily stew. 
A K.P. hears it from a cook, and whispers it in the ear 
Of a big "grease-ball," who imbibes it all as he would a foaming beer; 
It starts in a million different ways, but always spreads like flame. 
Until it dies, when new ones rise. And so runs the Rumor game. 



me tnke cpcKe Ar^oixive 




I HE march to the Argonne is a phase of our history 
which warrants the dignity of a separate chapter. It 
was one of those events which constituted an acid test 
of our soldierly qualities and powers of endurance, an 
experience which, coming as the continuation of two 
months of hard campaigning, was torture at the time, 
but which, in the reminiscence, leaves us complacently 
proud of ourselves. The more frightful our experi- 
ences, the more satisfied we are to point them out. 

We were bound for a rest camp. Of that we were sure, and why 
not, since the Seventy-seventh had been on the jump since the middle 
of July? As we left our position beyond the Vesle, we were more 
than ready to endure a few nights of labored marching, if they led 
us to the recompense of straw mattresses and abundant food. And so 
it was that the two detachments of the battery had turned their 
weary steps from the front, one leaving on September 14th, the other 
a day later, to unite at the echelon near Cierges, tired, yet rejoicing in 
the happy conviction that at last they were to receive the rewards of 
their exertions. 

The detachment which arrived on the morning of Sunday, the 1 5th, 
rested that day and the next. Religious services, both Christian and 
Jewish, were held in the woods, and the regimental band gave a con- 
cert. There was something quieting about the band. It sounded 
martial, yet smacked of rest camps and dress parades, and brought 
to our minds fond visions of Camp Upton, with its long rows of clean 
barracks, its busy jitney buses, and its open avenues peopled with 
well-groomed soldiers. We were treated to the opportunity of laying 
in a supply of cigarettes, for a near-by commissary was selling them 
by the carton, and of purchasing packages of crackers and chocolate. 
For the first time since we had been in the field we caught a momen- 
tary glimpse of the Y.M.C.A. secretary assigned to the regiment. We 
saw him again after the armistice. The "Y" had its usual abundant 
display of inedible razor blades. 

By the time the second detachment arrived at the Bois de Meun- 

[9^3 



iere, September i6th, the regiment was preparing for the night's 
march, and by the appointed hour (8.30 p.m.) tents had been struck, 
equipment packed, horses harnessed and hitched, and the guns drawn 
along the dirt road which ran through the woods to the main high- 
way. A not unusual delay ensued, due this time to the breakdown 
of a wagon at the head of the column, and the train did not move 
until 1 1 P.M. It showered intermittently during the whole night, and 
we renewed our acquaintance with French mud. Delays were fre- 
quent, though short, and were due mainly to congested traffic, for our 
infantry was passing in motor trucks to precede us to the rest camp, 
and the artillery of the Italian 8th Division was clattering in the 
opposite direction. At 8 a.m. we drew up beside a broad field near 
Troissy. Not far away was Chatillon-sur-Marne, perched on the top 
of a cliff overlooking the valley of the Marne, and next to the town 
a conspicuous, imposing statue towered over us from the heights of 
the escarpment. The guns were unlimbered on the side of the road, 
and the limbers drawn into the field to serve as posts for the picket- 
line. Tents were pitched, and we slept until noon, when a combina- 
tion breakfast and lunch was served, consisting of "monkey meat," 
hardtack, and coffee. During the afternoon, fifty men — fortunate be- 
ings — were sent ahead in trucks to precede the battery to the rest area 
and to prepare it for our habitation. Coffee and beans were served 
at five o'clock, and an hour later we stood on the road ready to ex- 
pend the feeble strength which such a meal could give us, in the 
all-night hike to follow. Traffic held us up, and it was not until 10.30 
P.M. that we heard the command: "Battery 'A,' For-'a-rd — March." 
During those four and a half hours we waited in a cold drizzle which 
now and then broke into rain and which continued throughout the 
night. The pace was fast, once we had passed up the long hill at the 
outset of the journey, and men were beginning to display fatigue even 
on this third of what developed into a nine-day march. At the infre- 
quent fall-outs they lay in the gutters of the road, sometimes to fall 
fast asleep and be awakened as the train moved on, or even to be left 
unnoticed in the darkness. Many attempted to violate regulations 
by stealing a ride or at least by throwing their heavy packs, rifles, 
and loaded cartridge-belts on one of the vehicles, but woe to the man 
who was detected by an officer. To every vehicle was assigned a 
privileged man to act as brakeman, privileged because he was enti- 
tled to ride. The first caisson under the guidance of Corporal 
Murphy at one time carried eleven men, and when an explanation of 
this outrage was demanded by the battery commander, Jim Murphy 
bravely volunteered the startling information that they were all 

1:93: 



brakemen. A suit of ejectment was brought against ten of the occu- 
pants, and, as usual, the battery commander won the case. Corporal 
Murphy received no compliment on the keenness of his eyesight. At 
8.30 in the morning of the i8th, we halted in a field near Pierry, three 
kilometers from Epernay, pitched tents, spread our blankets over the 
sticky clay mud, and slept. For the first time in weeks we were in 
the midst of civilization, and some of us, even at the expense of a few 
hours' sleep, hiked to Epernay and indulged in the delights of eggs, 
fruit, fresh bread, and the v/orld-famous Epernay champagne. 

By dusk we were prepared to continue the march, but orders 
changed, directing us to remain at the encampment until four o'clock 
the next morning. Too tired and sleepy to repitch our tents, we lay 
down in the open. When it started to rain, late in the night, we had 
only enough energy to pull our blankets over our heads and ofi'er 
thanks that we were allowed to sleep at all. The cooks, preparing 
breakfast in the dark of early morning, put salt in the cofi"ee instead 
of sugar, but the time consumed in brewing a fresh supply was not 
long, and we set out at the appointed hour. At 3 p.m. we established 
ourselves in a thinly wooded grove about ten kilometers from Cha- 
lons-sur-Marne, after a march which, by reason of its being made in 
the daylight, was interesting and a distinct relief from our previous 
trips in Stygian darkness. Another night's sleep refreshed us for the 
journey on the following morning, September 20th. Passing a French 
ordnance repair shop and a balloon factory on the outskirts of 
Chalons, we trudged on up the valley of the Marne to Togney-aux- 
Boeufs, and there encamped for a night and a day. Here an innova- 
tion was introduced into our lives which disappeared as suddenly as 
it came. It was a new outdoor sport known as "grooming horses by 
the numbers." The drivers stood to horse, and at the commands 
"Two minutes for left flank," "Two minutes for neck and shoulder," 
"One minute to clean out frogs," etc., they groomed the parts desig- 
nated, being timed in their actions by a whistle. The drivers were 
both amused and disgusted, while the rest of the battery watched the 
performance with unalloyed delight. The horses were quietly toler- 
ant of the proceedings, but must have had it in mind to organize a 
"Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Human Beings," unless, 
perhaps, they came to the painful conclusion that they had fallen 
into the efficient hands of thoroughbred Prussians. 

But what were such trifles as the manner of grooming horses? 
Were we not marching to a rest camp? We learned that the latter 
was only a few miles away. And then rumors, hideous rumors, found 
their way about the encampment, that we would go to Verdun, 

[94] 




H.T.FisV: 1921 



TKe ^^T-eaji^, jSilcTvb i\i.i^Xt Hike 



Rheims, the Argonne — anywhere, in fact, except that rest camp. A 
battalion inspection, held on the morning of the 21st, seemed porten- 
tous of further fighting, and a speech by the major confirmed our 
worst fears. He announced that we were to engage in a tremendous 
drive which he predicted would terminate the war by Christmas. A 
check of equipment followed, and the second and third pieces were 
sent back to the repair shop at Chalons. It was a bitter disappoint- 
ment to turn our steps away from the coveted quiet of a rest area, 
yet we met it with scarcely a murmur. Had we been Frenchmen, we 
would have sighed a sad "C'est la guerre," a phrase burning with in- 
domitable pluck yet tinged with dangerous fatalism, a phrase which 
seems to echo the horrors of battles already fought and lost, yet con- 
templates the future not without dogged hope. But being Americans, 
we thought and said, "Well, let's go," a simple expression, often used, 
one which, more than any other, epitomized the spirit of our army. 
It is a phrase with no tragic past to recall, no demolished homes, no 
murdered relatives, no rivers of blood, an expression looking to the 
future and not to the past, displaying resignation to the inevitable, 
but also a grim, impatient anxiety to "get it over with." 

We left about the middle of the afternoon. A stop was made at 
9 P.M. for the purpose of serving bread, jam, and coffee, and just be- 
fore dawn of the 22d we arrived in the Possesse Woods. The detail 
work at this encampment took longer than usual, and tents were not 
pitched until well along in the morning. In the early afternoon mess 
was served, a mess which was the more ravenously consumed because 
it included large portions of steak. We broke camp and pulled out 
of the woods about six o'clock, glad enough to leave the place, for it 
had been left in a foul, unsanitary condition by other troops. The 
night's hike was a short one, and well it was, for we were tired out. 
Many were suff"ering from blistered feet and labored heavily to keep 
up the pace, while all of us felt the strain of the march and cursed the 
War Department for not supplying heavy field artillery with motor 
trucks. The halt was made about midnight in a thick woods near 
Chatrices. It had rained during the entire march, and we were 
drenched, but we had no way of drying ourselves, and so lay down in 
our tents to sleep until morning. We arose, stifi" and cold, and hung 
our wet clothes to steam in the heat of small fires which we were 
allowed to build. 

The last leg of our journey occurred in the night of September 23- 
24. It rained at frequent intervals, and we were once more soaked to 
the skin, but despite the inclement weather and the rapid pace, we 
were satisfied to carry on and get there. "There" ceased to be a 

[96] 



matter of mere conjecture, for it became apparent, as we rattled over 
the cobbled pavement of St. Menehould and past Florent, that we 
were bound for the Argonne sector, though the exact location of our 
position was unknown to all but the officers until we reached it, A 
few kilometers beyond Florent and in the Argonne Forest proper, 
our echelon was established, and here we were met by men of the 
billeting detail which had left us at the encampment near Troissy. 
The two guns continued up the road for three kilometers to the gun 
positions assigned to us, and the howitzers were placed and camou- 
flaged before morning. 

Our trip was at an end. To say that we were fatigued is putting it 
mildly. If any one of us, now or in the future, has cause to complain 
of his lot, let him look back on the hike from the Vesle to the Ar- 
gonne, and his troubles will seem petty in comparison. If, comforta- 
bly reclining in an easy-chair before a blazing fire, you curse your 
luck because you have mislaid your pipe, or because you have a 
stomach-ache from eating too much mince-pie for supper, then reflect 
awhile on the state of your being during the days of September 14 to 
24, 19 18. Were you mounted? Then consider the weary mounted 
man, his legs wet and cold and cramped from stretching over a 
broad, uncomfortable saddle, his feet groping for stirrups, or kicking 
the flanks of his mount, his back aching from the regular lurching of 
his tired horse, a horse which plods mechanically over muddy roads 
or trips haltingly in the darkness. His hands are clammy and stiff 
from holding soggy reins, his eyes tired from peering into the dark- 
ness, his nerves on edge from constantly watching the vehicle ahead 
in order not to run into it if the pace slackens suddenly. His head 
nods now and then, for he is very sleepy. He is hungry, and, above 
all, he wants to get off his horse and stretch the cramps out of his 
body. 

Again, perhaps your evening meal does not suit you. The steak 
may not be juicy enough, or possibly the coffee is so hot that you 
burn your tongue. Then recall those nights when you would have 
swallowed that coffee at a gulp. Were you unmounted? Then con- 
sider that bedraggled, hungry, silent individual who once trudged 
heavily over sloppy French highways. Behind him the labored 
breathing of horses, the thud of hoofs, the rubbing of wet leather, the 
chinkling of harness chains; beside him the uneven scraping and 
shuffling of feet, an occasional splash, an occasional stumble, and the 
bobbing of heads, barely discernible through the grayness of a foggy 
drizzle; before him the jumbling, rattling, unyielding mass of a six- 

[97: 



inch howitzer, its broad wheels rolling up a thin splatter of white 
clay mud and grinding intermittently against its heavy brakes. 

A helmet, tied loosely on his pack, and his mess-kit clank inces- 
santly to the cadence of his methodical walking. Little rivers of 
water break the reservoir of his cap and trickle downward, tickling 
his nose and chin, or coursing rapidly down his neck beneath the 
loose collar of a rain-soaked slicker. His hair is matted, his hands 
unbearably moist, his clothes cling to him, and at every crunch of 
his muddy shoes cold water oozes up between his toes. His legs are 
drenched and numb, except for a twinge of shooting pain from the 
tightness of his rolled leggings; and now and then his knees give 
way a trifle, as if unable to support the unnatural weight above them. 

He looks down at his feet. He likes to look at his feet, for the 
ground seems to speed past under them, but it makes him dizzy to 
look too long, and, too, it hurts him to bend his neck, for the pack 
straps cut all the harder and increase that awful ache in his left shoul- 
der. He raises his head again and peers at the shadowy lines of drip- 
ping trees which wall the whiteness of the road. How incredibly 
slowly they are really going! 

A halt, and he sits silently in the gutter, resting the bottom of his 
pack on the bank of the road to relieve the strain on his back. He 
closes his eyes for a few moments. "For — 'ard — Harch!" and he 
drags himself up again. 

Tramp, tramp, scuffle, splunch. 

His stomach is flattened, and he is conscious of his throat. Some- 
thing is pressing down on his heart. His ammunition-belt weighs 
heavily on his hips. He takes a deep breath, lurches his pack higher 
on his back, and grabs the protruding cradle of the howitzer. 

Scuffle, scuffle, tramp, tramp, tramp. 

Will they never get there? 

Tramp, tramp, scrape, splash, scuffle, scuffle, tramp, tramp, tramp. 



C98] 



"Let's Go!" 



BY G. H. R. 

The night is wet and as black as pitch, 
The fourth piece's stuck in a god damn ditch, 
These muddy hikes all have their hitch 
To keep us fretting with the packs 
That sit so heavy on our backs 
And make us stumble in our tracks. 
"All cannoneers up forward. Say! 
Come on, you men, chase up this way; 
And shake it up. My God, you're slow, 
Yes, you, 1 mean! Come on, let's go!" 

The men splash up where the big gun lies. 
"Get going, men," the sergeant cries, 
"One — two — three — hee-e-ve. Come on, you guys.' 

The horses snort, go through their paces, 

Forward lean and pull their traces; 

Drivers swear with darkened faces. 

Five men are straining at each wheel. 

Their muscles hard as tempered steel; 

The gun moves but an inch or so — 
"One — two — three — hee-e-ve. Come on, let's go!" 

"Let's try again ; get out a rope. 

This time we'll pull her out, I hope. 

/ said a rope, you diny dope I" 

The men all heave with might and main; 

The drivers spur their mounts again; 

The howitzer can't stand the strain. 

But lurches from its muddy bank 

With scraping grind and rattling clank. 

The men relax, the horses blow. 
"Forward — Harch!" — "Come on, let's go!" 




[E ROND CHAMP, our first position in the Argonne, 
was, in point of security, the best we ever had on an 
active front. It was in one of those deep, narrow ra- 
vines so characteristic of the Argonne Forest, and, due 
to the steep precipice on its forward side, offered a 
target which only the most accurate fire could have 
found. The emplacements were to the rear of a road 
running through the ravine, while our living quarters 
were old French dugouts cut deep in the slope of the forward hill. 
Some of the latter were small affairs, but the one which housed most 
of the battery was capable of accommodating over a hundred men. 
Added to our security we enjoyed a degree of comfort which was a 
blessed relief after long weeks of exposure. The dugouts were filthy 
and were thickly populated with cooties, but they were provided with 
tiers of chicken-wire bunks and were lighted with electricity. Out- 
side the abris was piped running water, a convenience which enabled 
us to bathe and wash our underwear. The greatest of our comforts 
was a combination French-American Y.M.C.A. hut. The "Y" secre- 
tary took an active interest in us, and proved to our satisfaction that 
a "Y" hut, under the management of a capable secretary, could be a 
most welcome benefaction to men in the field. We only regret that it 
was the only time that we could come to this conclusion through ex- 
perience. Never before and never thereafter did we have a repre- 
sentative of the Y.M.C.A. with us in the field, despite the fact that a 
secretary was assigned to our regiment. 

Here, in this secluded spot, we played our part in the premier at- 
tack of the Argonne offensive. We knew that the drive was to be a 
tremendous one, for rumors were flying fast and thick that thousands 
of guns were trained on the enemy, that the attack was expected to 
be a complete surprise, and that it would, if successful, force the 
Germans to retreat as they were retreating before the British in Bel- 
gium and the French above Soissons and the Chemin des Dames. We 
had received little news of Foch's campaign, but what we had heard 
strengthened Major Dick's remarks about the speedy termination of 

[100] 



the war. The haste with which we had marched to the front, and 
the orders to move into position on the very night of our arrival, 
weary as we were, only emphasized the fact that something was 
pending in the very near future. Aside from these premonitions we 
knew little about the drive. Its true significance was largely lost to 
us. With American ignorance of Allied campaigns previous to our 
entrance into the war, we did not appreciate what a stronghold the 
Argonne was, how unsuccessful had been every effort to break 
through or around it, and what a vital spot it occupied in the Hin- 
denburg line. We were soon to learn these things both by passing 
over the rugged terrain itself and by official communications which 
designated our front as the hinges of the door to Germany. "The 
Seventy-seventh Division, under Major-General Robert Alexan- 
der," says an official report of the Meuse-Argonne offensive, "held 
the extreme left of the American army and occupied the longest sec- 
tor of any division in the line, seven and one half kilometers." "It 
was to be the difficult task of the Seventy-seventh to clear the enemy 
from the wilderness of the Argonne Forest, a wilderness comparable 
in every way with the Wilderness of Virginia, except that its topog- 
raphy was more rugged, and that the science of modern warfare had 
made its natural difficulties infinitely harder to overcome." Since 
191 5 the German occupation of the Argonne had been practically 
uncontested, with the result that the Germans had had ample oppor- 
tunity to strengthen the natural defenses of the forest "by interlac- 
ing with barbed wire the dense timber and tangled underbrush which 
everywhere clothed the precipitous ravines and hillsides," and by 
establishing machine-gun emplacements and zones of cross-fire. 
Everywhere in our advance we came across signs of permanent oc- 
cupation — large concrete dugouts, elaborately fitted out with conve- 
niences which seemed foreign to a field of battle, complicated systems 
of narrow-gauge railways, huge abris filled with ammunition, bath- 
houses, and a hundred other indications that the enemy did not ex- 
pect to be dislodged. 

And what of our part in disillusioning the confident Germans? 
The artillery now realizes that it must be conservative in claiming 
credit for dislodging the enemy from the Argonne Forest proper. In 
the comparatively open country beyond the forest our guns were of 
great use, as the ruins of Grand Pre and other towns will testify, but 
in the forest itself the foliage was dense and observation difficult, 
and our guns could do little more than sit on their muddy haunches 
and bark furiously at the enemy. Still, we can claim to have been 
of great assistance to our dough-boys on more than one occasion, 

[•01:] 



especially during the first days of the drive, when the location of in- 
fantry lines could be accurately plotted for our use in laying down 
creeping barrages. And after that, we broke up many a barbed wire 
entanglement and silenced many machine-guns and hostile batteries, 
yet, however great may have been our accomplishments, they are 
overshadowed by the superhuman achievements of the infantry, 
who slashed through the treacherous woods, down and up the slopes 
of ravines, always in the face of machine-gun fire. When Battery 
"A" considers how comparatively unrestrained was its own advance, 
it must respectfully salute the men who literally cut their way 
through that apparently impenetrable maze. The fight in the Ar- 
gonne was a sort of magnified guerilla warfare. It was hand-to-hand 
fighting, and the artillery, especially the heavy howitzer batteries, 
found difficulty in being of as much assistance as would ordinarily 
be expected. We worked hard, we undoubtedly inflicted much dam- 
age by our fire, yet mobile operations were impossible. And it is 
also proper to remember that, however much we may have suffered 
from exposure and a lack of food, the hardships we endured were 
trivial compared to the privations so heroically borne by the dough- 
boys. 

The day and night of September 25th we spent in improving the 
gun emplacements, preparing them for the "big drive." The third 
piece was reported on its way from the repair shop, and when it ar- 
rived, at 9 P.M., we had a pit already prepared for it. After dark, 
enormous quantities of shell, powder, and fuses were brought up by 
trucks and carried by hand to the pits, where they were stacked for 
convenient use. Late in the evening all was ready, and we waited 
somewhat impatiently for orders to let loose. Not often did we feel 
any eager excitement toward an expected mission, but on that night 
there was excitement in the air. We had known all day that we must 
rush our preparations, and now that we were ready we felt restless; 
and when, at 1 1 p.m., the French naval guns opened fire next to our 
positions, we felt almost cheated at not being ordered to commence 
operations at once, the more so because we could see flashes in the 
sky, and knew that many guns were already at work. We could not 
sleep, for every explosion from one of the naval rifles shook the whole 
ravine. The concussion snuffed out candles, threatened to shake 
down the walls of the smaller dugouts, and within the latter actually 
overturned several bunks. There could be no resting in such chaos, 
but we lay down and held our ears, or visited the six-inch rifle-pits 
to watch the Frenchmen sweat, and sweat they did, for they were 
firing rapidly. 

[102] 



The infantry attack was ordered for "H" hour (5.30 a.m.)- The 
divisional artillery was ordered to open fire at "H-3/' or 2.30 a.m. 
We can recall with what nervous excitement we looked at our watches 
awaiting the given signal. As the minute-hand passed "H-3" hour, 
the bombardment burst out along the whole front like a terrific clap 
of thunder which roars and loudly rumbles off, to be smothered by 
another clap, and another, and another, in quick succession. We 
could not see the flash of many guns, for the ravine hid our view, 
but the sky for miles around was lit up as if by heat lightning. The 
roar of our own howitzers and the riot of the French rifles, together 
with the noise of Battery "B" 's guns a few hundred yards down the 
road, filled the ravine with deafening clamor. We had but a momen- 
tary impression of the beginning of the great ofl'ensive, for once en- 
grossed in the rapid operation of our pieces, we lost track of all time 
and place and worked feverishly to serve the guns. "Bang" goes a 
howitzer and the hot barrel recoils smoothly up the cradle. The 
breech is opened on the way up and is quickly washed with a wet 
cloth. The loading tray is placed on the runners. A shell, cleaned, 
greased, and fused, is immediately lifted on it, and, with a hollow 
clank, is rammed into the bore. Up comes the powder bag, away 
goes the tray, slam goes the breech, in goes a primer, "Ready," calls 
the gunner, and the crew stand clear and hold their ears. "Fire," 
calls the sergeant; "Bang," roars the howitzer, and leaps on its heavy 
wheels, vainly pushing its spade against the revetment. "Right two. 
Elevation 5-6-3," commands the sergeant, data-book in hand, and 
the gunner manipulates his instruments and levels the bubbles. So 
it went, round after round, until we perspired with exertion and 
wished mightily that we could get away from the constant concus- 
sion and noise. For three hours we fired zone fire, and at "H" hour 
assisted in laying down a creeping barrage five hundred meters in 
front of the infantry, after which we reverted to zone fire and con- 
tinued at an increasingly slow rate to blast the enemy until 3.23 p.m. 
In all we shot 959 rounds. Only three guns were in action and one 
of these (number three) went out of commission during the fire, to 
be replaced in the afternoon by the second piece which arrived from 
the shop. 

959 rounds. Poor Fritz! Almost a thousand H.E.'s from one 
battery, and they from a battery of heavies which could not fire as 
rapidly as some. It is estimated that 3938 pieces of artillery were 
in simultaneous action along the whole line of the big drive, two 
hundred of these on the front assigned to the Seventy-seventh. The 
number of tons of ammunition consumed by these fire-eaters would 

[■03] 



present a staggering figure, and the expenditure in dollars would 
have made the most patriotic Liberty Loan subscriber clutch at his 
pocket-book. In 1776 Washington gave orders from his headquar- 
ters in Cambridge that a contingent of men, imbursed with five hun- 
dred dollars, be sent out from each regiment to scour the neighboring 
country for muskets and bullets. In igi8 a single battery fires off 
fifty thousand dollars' worth of ammunition in one night. Truly, 
the price of democrac}' has gone up! 

On the 27th our firing commenced at 5 a.m. and continued for 
three and a half hours without intermission. 219 shell were used. 
On the following day the guns were silent, and on the morning of the 
29th we fired forty rounds, our last mission from Le Rond Champ. 

The 29th was a Sunday. We faintly remembered that once upon 
a time Sunday was looked upon as a day for rest. Though wallowing 
in French mud like goaded swine, we still cherished the affectation 
of being civilized, and clung despairingly to the expectation that 
for just one Sunday religious conventions might he observed. Our 
hopes were high that the 29th would be that very Sunday. We were 
told that the infantry attack had proceeded beyond a point where 
our fire could be useiful, and that we would fire no more from that 
position. We were told that we would have steak for supper. We 
were told that we would be entertained at the "Y" hut by several 
actors who were expected for an evening performance of vaudeville. 
It promised to be a very rosy Sabbath indeed. We should have 
known better than to expect rest, steak, and entertainment all in 
one evening. Such a combination of inefi"able delights could never 
find favor with the stern, heartless god of war. Furthermore the 
weather was threatening, and from long experience we should have 
known that the chances of our moving were enormously increased 
by the probability of rain. It rained. We moved. 

We were sorry to leave Le Rond Champ, not only because of the 
steak and vaudeville, but because we were secure and comfortable 
in our secluded ravine. Few shell had dropped near us — though some 
had crashed on neighboring hillsides — and we were pleasantly aware 
that German aviation was unusually inactive. In Lorraine and at 
the Vesle we were constantly hampered by the presence of Boche 
planes, apparently in undisputed supremacy of the air, but at Le 
Rond Champ we saw not a single one. The reason was very evident, 
for the sky was filled with Allied ships. One afternoon we counted 
over two hundred planes in the air at the same time, all of them 
seemingly anti-German. We knew, however, that the Germans were 
not totally banished from the clouds, for one day two American avia- 

1:104] 



tors walked into our position in quest of food. They had been 
brought down in No-Man's Land, had crawled back to the American 
lines, and were on their way to their hangars when they paid us a 
call. At first we suspected that they might be spies, but their papers 
appeared bona fide and their appearance and actions seemed above 
suspicion, so we fed them well and wished them good luck. 

Orders to move came suddenly and demanded quick action. The 
third piece had been sent to the rear for repairs, and after an exami- 
nation of number two, which was out of action with recoil trouble, 
it was decided to keep the latter at Le Rond Champ, to be fixed there 
and sent forward as soon as possible, so we had only two guns to 
pull out of position. The caissons were discarded (thank Heaven!) 
and we therefore traveled with few vehicles. It was not surprising 
that our train was lightened so far as possible, for, during the night's 
hike to Abri St. Louis, we found the roads deep in mud and covered 
with troops and a multitude of vehicles. Though only a short dis- 
tance from our first position, it took nearly the whole night to- reach 
our destination, it was intensely dark, and it was difficult to avoid 
shell holes, or keep from sliding over the edge of the road into a 
ravine. At one place fifty yards of the road had been blown away 
by a mine, and it was a ticklish matter to guide the pieces along the 
narrow slippery detour which had been cut into the side of the hill, 
particularly difficult because the detour barely allowed room for two 
wagons to pass each other. A miscalculation of two or three feet 
would have sent howitzer, horses, and drivers plunging down the 
precipitous slope. Abri St. Louis was reached by a muddy shell- 
ridden corduroy road extending to the left off the main highway. 
The fourth piece got stuck and was left until morning. The second 
piece arrived from Le Rond Champ the ensuing afternoon. 

A detail of men had preceded the battery to the position on the 
28th, and had made a start toward preparing it for our occupation. 
Emplacements were partially ready for the howitzers, and the dug- 
outs of the position had been examined for secreted mines and their 
allotment to the various sections determined in advance. Several 
of the dugouts were of recent construction, one of the best being 
corner-stoned "1918." A number of them were in good condition, 
though exceptionally dirty, while a few were partially battered down 
and wholly unfit for habitation. The guns were distributed along 
the horizontal road of the muddy cross-roads at which our position 
was located, two guns being placed on either side of the vertical 
crossing. Small shelter-pits already excavated in back of the em- 
placements were enlarged and strengthened for the use of the gun 

C'05:] 



crews while on duty. The P.C. and Battalion Headquarters, to- 
gether with the kitchen and sectional dugouts, extended for several 
hundred yards down the road to the left. For the first time a bat- 
talion mess was served. Battery "B" men coming from their position 
(to the right of ours) to join us in the delicacies of army fare. Our 
echelon was farther down the road beyond the dugouts, and here 
many of our horses died. The poor beasts were underfed and badly 
exposed to the inclement weather. Here, too, the drivers, between 
burying horses and wishing that they might also bury themselves, 
came to believe that the accomplishments of the American army were 
grossly underrated. 

Food was, as always, the greatest concern of our lives, and its 
scarcity at Abri St. Louis was a circumstance which gave no little 
cause for complaint. Our kitchen was really a magnificent affair, 
for it had been formerly occupied by the Boches (ever faithful to 
their stomachs), and was fitted up with ovens and culinary utensils 
appropriate for the preparation of a royal banquet. But, alas, our 
rations were not plentiful, and Battery "B" men combined their 
voices with ours in alternately blaspheming the army for inefficiency 
and basely accusing the cooks of privately consuming half the bat- 
talion food supply. Indeed, the situation became so bad that the 
ration cart was looted on several occasions, to the irate indignation 
of all but the happy robbers. A guard was finally placed over the 
sacred vehicle, after which surreptitious smuggling could only be 
safely conducted by means of an enormous "drag" with the cooks, 
who only did their duty in refusing to part with their supplies. By 
appearing at the kitchen door as if in imminent danger of swooning 
from hunger, one could occasionally obtain the wherewithal to make 
griddle-cakes, and many a dugout reeked with the heavy but delight- 
ful smoke of equally heavy but delightful flapjacks. Even those 
paragons of virtue, the officers, were not exempt from the baser in- 
stincts stimulated by a lack of food, for, though we never noticed 
that the officers looked pinched from hunger, we discovered that one 
of them was appropriating the battery's jam and the meagre issue of 
chocolate for his personal use. Major Dick also discovered the 
fact and reprimanded the offender, to the ecstatic joy of the entire 
battery. We devoutly wished that he might extend his timely ad- 
monitions to the subject of appearing late in the mornings in pink 
pajamas. 

We found that we were occupying an old German position which 
was known as "Whittilyer." In the absence of German dictionaries 
we venture a guess that "Whittilyer" must be German for "mud- 

[■06] 





/l/eo^/^ I B^ e 5 Of ^'^ «e 



na nc 



f 













/^tT' /i&'PBze^j Ar-ponm 



hole." If so, the appellation was remarkably fitting. The mud was 
so deep that we lost track of our feet for hours at a time, and wal- 
lowed and slopped and slipped about the position until we had 
churned it into a mud soup. We dragged mud into the dugouts on 
our shoes until the dirt floors of those palatial compartments gave 
marked indications of turning into Sloughs of Despond. 

The guns were constantly busy, and our operation of them was 
unhampered by any bombardment or by the presence of Boche aero- 
planes. Shell burst to our rear and often on our extreme left, but 
none came near enough to cause more than passing apprehension. 
One German ship circled over our emplacements as we were firing a 
mission, and we felt that perhaps fortune had forsaken us, but on 
his return flight the aviator was intercepted by two Allied planes and 
was brought down, so some claimed, within a short distance of Abri 
St. Louis. Our shell were directed against all manner of targets, and 
consisted largely in harassing fire, designed to embarrass the Ger- 
mans on their retreat. A great deal of it was slow fire and therefore 
the more arduous because it kept the gun crews on duty day and 
night. Of all our missions the last was the one which we have cause 
to remember with the greatest interest, for it marked our participa- 
tion in the release of the so-called "Lost Battalion." How much 
credit we may take to ourselves for the extrication of that brave 
detachment we do not know, but certain it is that the four hundred 
and eighty-five rounds which we delivered must have had some effect 
in enabling the infantry to join their beleaguered companions in the 
famous pocket. About midnight of the 6th, Lieutenant Barker 
called the gun sergeants to the firing executive's post, and told them 
that the mission about to be fired was "to help some of our dough- 
boys who had got themselves in trouble." Not often did we know 
what we were firing at, and the information on this occasion stimu- 
lated our interest and spurred us to unusual care in the execution of 
our problem. 

A summary of the firing done at Abri St. Louis follows. This 
summary and others to follow were copied from battalion records 
and do not always accord with the data used during the missions in- 
volved. They are, however, accurate in most cases and nearly so 
in all. 

October ist 

5.00- 5.44 P.M. Harassing fire, one round every five Rounds 

minutes at irregular intervals 22 

[107] 



October 2d Rounds 

11.20- 1. 3 1 A.M. Irregular harassing fire 42 

Railroad 33 

6.00- 7.00 A.M. Barrage 120 

12.22-12.40 P.M. Harassing fire, machine-gun nest 43 

2.00- 6.00 P.M. Harassing fire 24 

18 
30 

"* October 3d 

6.00- 7.00 A.M. Harassing fire 12 

12.01- 2.07 P.M. " " 39 

7.56- 8.04 P.M. Counter-battery fire 12 

October 4th 

10. 43-1 1.20 A.M. Counter-battery fire 395 

1 1.37-12.39 P.M. Observation Post Signal Station 20 

October 5th 
6.00- 7.00 A.M. Barrage 180 

October 6th 

12.00- 4.00 A.M. Barrage, "Lost Battalion" 125 

4.00- 6.00 A.M. Barrage, "Lost Battalion," three 

rounds per battery per minute 360 

Replenishing our supply of ammunition might have been an ex- 
ceedingly laborious task had not the guns been fortunately located 
directly behind a narrow-gauge railroad. As it was, a detail of men 
loaded our supply on flat-cars at an ammunition depot, about a mile 
away, and rolled and swayed down the slight incline to the position, 
finally dumping the shell and powder almost into the gun-pits them- 
selves. The flat-cars sometimes developed astonishing speed, but the 
brakes always held in a pinch and no accidents occurred. At best an 
ammunition detail never had exactly a good time, but the railroad 
was a novelty which lightened the task. 

Another convenience, in the form of a German delousing station, 
was discovered in a ravine not far from Abri St. Louis, and here 
groups of men were sent to shiver in the cold, rainy, October weather 
while their clothes were purged of cooties and other friendly vermin. 
The station was also supplied with the possibilities of a bath, but the 



bathing apparatus had a sad, fitful way of being out of order, and 
not all of us were enabled to wash off the accumulated layers of sweat 
and dirt in which we were masonically encased. We had practically 
no opportunity even to wash our hands and faces while at Abri St. 
Louis, for the water supply in the small water-cart was far from 
abundant, and was carefully mothered by the anxious cooks. It 
rained hard and frequently, but the baths we received by getting 
drenching wet were of doubtful value as cleansers. However, mud 
baths are considered by some medical authorities to be highly bene- 
ficial, and these we had in plenty. To any who may dream that mud 
baths have salutary effects on rheumatism or kindred ailments, we 
confidently recommend the Argonne Forest as the best bath-room 
in the world. 

Under the strain of hard work, irregular sleep, and abominable 
rations, the thrills we felt at the opening of the big drive had worn 
away. Once more we settled down to the conviction that war is not 
glorious. But however low might be our spirits, then or at any time, 
incidents were bound to occur to rescue us from the despair we might 
otherwise have felt. American optimism, American curiosity, and 
the American sense of humor saved many a Yankee soldier from 
melancholia, if not from insanity, and these three anti-toxins to the 
evils of war were in full operation at Abri St. Louis to keep our 
morale from slipping in the mud of that morass. A few "crape hang- 
ers" were steadfastly pessimistic about the termination of the war, 
but rumors of the signing of an armistice filtered into Abri St. Louis, 
or else were manufactured on the spot, to sustain our fervent hopes 
for peace and a bath. We were, of course, cut off from newspapers, 
and the sources of our information were confined to men returning 
from hospitals, motor-truck chauffeurs, orderlies, and the like, any- 
body, in fact, who came from the rear. It is surprising what confi- 
dence we placed in these presumably enlightened individuals and 
what significance we attached to their prophetic words, especially if 
their reports coincided with our wishes. If one of them expressed 
the opinion that the war would not end for two years, he was con- 
demned as a "damned liar" who "didn't know what he was talking 
about," but if he knowingly claimed to have authentic information 
from a man who was told by another man who had heard from some- 
body remotely connected with the general that the war would end 
within a week, then our elation was supreme, and our informer was 
held up as a model of integrity and was looked upon as the very 
personification of wisdom. The least we expected was divisional 
relief, and the presence of the 78th Division in the forest indicated 

1:109] 



conclusively that we were to have a rest, how conclusively we have 
yet to say. 

In spare moments — and they were very spare, since we were ex- 
pected to remain at the position — we wandered over the surrounding 
territory and examined with satisfaction the evidences of the haste 
of the German retreat. Dead were lying unburied, and dugouts 
which had been used as offices and commanders' posts were aban- 
doned without so much as the removal of the papers, books, and 
maps which lay on the tables ready for convenient use. It was as if 
the Germans had left everything to run for safety. Hosts of sou- 
venirs were picked up and carried to the position, and some of us 
brought back Boche helmets and firearms, highly resolved to carry 
them to the States, even at the expense of discarding all our personal 
equipment. This stubborn determination to persevere in the reten- 
tion of our treasures generally lasted until moving time, when the 
extensiveness of one's equipment took on alarming proportions. A 
few German rifles found their way with the battery, their proud pos- 
sessors hanging on to them like grim death, but many more were 
hurled back with a weary sigh and a longing glance to the under- 
brush which gave them up, there to nick the ax of some forester in 
future years, a monument to the valor of a German patriot. 

Rumors and explorations greatly moderated the severity of life 
at Abri St. Louis, but nothing did so more than the amusement we 
derived from the instruction we received in the art of defending our 
pieces in the event of a counter-attack. It was felt that, if the in- 
fantry gave way under a counter-attack, the artillery would be 
absolutely unprotected. Accordingly measures were taken to estab-, 
lish a skirmish-line in front of the gun emplacements, to assist our 
machine-gunners in the defense of the howitzers. At a given signal 
every man rushed to an assigned position, and waited there in joyous 
anticipation of killing an imaginary German. The fact that a large 
percentage of us did not know how to load our rifles tended to 
dampen our confidence in the effectiveness of our proposed manceuvers. 
We had visions of impetuously hurling away these dangerous imple- 
ments, and employing our fists against the summit of some German 
nose with that manual dexterity characteristic of the more belligerent 
type of true American. All in all, we felt as if we were playing In- 
dians and cow-boys, and entered into the game with puerile enthu- 
siasm, only regretting that orders forbade us to whoop like Mohawk 
warriors, or utter the piercing shrieks popularly associated with cow- 
punchers. The most serious part of the performance was an inspec- 
tion of rifles, cleaned with feverish haste to meet the occasion. An 



inspection is always a serious affair, but it is exceptionally so when 
one's rifle has received no attention for several weeks, and one is 
suddenly called upon to show it to a heartless-looking officer to 
whom a speck of rust spells carelessness worthy of death. 

At 4 A.M. of September loth, the battery splashed forward a few 
kilometers to a position near Chatel. It was on top of a hill covered 
with thick underbrush, but free from any trees which might have 
interfered with our projectiles. The echelon was in the woods on the 
rear slope of the hill and several hundred yards in back of the em- 
placements. One event of the march is worth recording. A passing 
supply truck dropped a large wooden case containing boxes of hard- 
tack; instantly the Battery "A" column broke from the right side of 
the road, the men dashing to the coveted hardtack like bees around a 
beehive. The whole case was rifled with astonishing rapidity, and 
we ate the contents as if we were munching a delicate angel cake. 
The incident reminds one of the scene described in "The Tale of 
Two Cities," where a cask of wine fell from a cart into a Paris street 
and was smashed open by half-starved French peasants, who lapped 
the liquor out of the gutter. 

Our stay near Chatel was brief and our firing amounted to only 
132 rounds, all expended in one mission against machine-gun nests 
on the night of the loth. Most of our time was spent preparing the 
emplacements and in scouring up extra rations for private use, the 
latter occupation proving unusually successful, for a supply dump 
in the vicinity afforded the luxuries of bountiful bread and jam. 

We will remember the position by two circumstances, one the ex- 
plosion of an ammunition dugout in the valley to our right. The 
dugout had been mined by the Germans before they left it, the in- 
fernal machine being apparently timed for our special benefit. The 
explosion was too far away to harm any of us, but its terrific roar 
and the consequent column of dirt and stones, hurled high in air, 
gave us food for solemn thought. But we will also remember Chatel 
because of another explosion, that of Lieutenant Barker's revolver. 
A shot was heard, and Lieutenant Barker was espied in the distance 
investigating the safest method of loading the dangerous weapon 
which he carried on his hip. The battery was, on the whole, a fearless 
organization, but we were sorely tempted to seek cover in the face 
of such erratic pistol practice. The incident was the more amusing 
because the lieutenant, a few hours previous, had given explicit in- 
structions to his sergeants as to the proper method of loading their 
revolvers. 

Early on Saturday afternoon, October 12th, we moved to a hill- 

[in;] 



side near La Besogne, a position which was allotted to us as the 
advance battery of the regiment, and which was reported to be less 
than a kilometer from the infantry lines. On the hike to La Besogne 
we saw more than ever before the evidences of hand-to-hand fight- 
ing, for both Americans and Germans were lying in the gutters and 
in the thickets beside the road. At one cross-roads were several 
bodies, one German lying with his heavy trench boots in a ditch, his 
arms extended stiff before his upturned face, as though still protect- 
ing himself from his enemy. Across the road was an ungainly field- 
piece with a barrel like a six-inch rifle, thought to be of Russian 
make. Some distance farther we pulled to the left, and with some 
difficulty hauled the guns down a narrow side road, deep in mud and 
water and dangerous with shell holes, and so across part of a field, 
peppered with tree stumps, and into their respective future emplace- 
ments. Work was immediately begun on the gun-pits, to take advan- 
tage of the daylight. The sooner we could get the howitzers laid for 
fire the better for the reputation of Battery "A," though it might 
have been better had we taken a chance on our reputation and im- 
mediately pitched our tents. A detail was set to work digging a 
shelter for the firing executive's station and another to erect a large 
tent-like structure in the woods behind us for the P. C. It was after 
dark before these matters were finished, and when we were per- 
mitted to pitch our tents (also in the woods), it had started to 
pour. The process of clearing away the underbrush and erecting our 
pup-tents in the absolute dark of a rainy night did not improve our 
tempers. We had had nothing to eat since noon, we were tired out 
from the hike and from working on the position, we were wet and 
sleepy, and we were angry because we had not been allowed to pitch 
tents in the daylight. The deluge of American oaths which issued 
from those woods must have made the devil's tail curl with glee. To 
add to the joy of the occasion we got no mess that night. The hard- 
ships of campaigning are, in a sense, a relieving feature of war, be- 
cause hardships bring weariness and weariness brings sleep (if a man 
can only get a chance at it) and the sleep of a soldier brings blissful 
oblivion, even to the roar of guns, the pangs of hunger, the misery 
of a drenched uniform, and the nocturnal excursions of one's cooties. 
So it was that we shed our worries on the night of the 12th. 

The main echelon had been left at the last position, and a sec- 
ondary echelon was established in connection with Battery "B" in 
the woods on the forward slope of the hill on which we were situated. 
The "B" Battery kitchen served mess for the firing sections of both 
batteries. We were now located on the edge of the Argonne Forest, 



on a plateau which extended into rolling and comparatively open 
country to the north, where the towns of Marcq, Chevieres, Cham- 
pigneulle, and Grand Pre awaited destruction from our guns. Ex- 
cellent observation was possible from advanced posts, and we made 
the most of it by spotting many an enemy battery and by firing at 
fleeting targets, in addition to our usual work against machine-gun 
nests, wire entanglements, and the demolition of the above-mentioned 
towns. The position was an extremely good one and has been pro- 
nounced by all odds the best in the regiment at the time. The guns 
and the paths leading to them were well camouflaged, and the bat- 
tery area in the woods to the rear was totally concealed. The hill- 
side, sloping into a wooded ravine behind, offered a fair degree of 
protection, but a bombardment would have found us sadly lacking 
in that respect, for we had no dugouts but the shallow shelter-pits 
which had proved so insufficient at the Vesle; and there were not 
enough of these to accommodate the whole battery, since all of us 
did not take the time to dig in. Trenches were dug near the gun-pits 
for the protection of the gun crews, and several dugouts in the bottom 
of the ravine behind us further increased the opportunities for safe 
refuge, but we had no such splendid protection as had the French 
battery of six-inch rifles to our immediate right. They, with their 
deep abris and their massively bulwarked gun emplacements, could 
have laughed at bursting shell, though a Frenchman has learned 
never to laugh at any shell. 

In the eyes of the enlisted men the greatest drawback of the posi- 
tion was its inaccessibility to ammunition trucks, for most of the 
road leading off the highway was absolutely impassable to heavy 
vehicles. Our supply of ammunition was unloaded at the entrance 
to this spur road, and was hauled with great difficulty, not to the 
gun-pits themselves, for even the wagons employed would have 
found difficulty in reaching them, but to a point several yards from 
the emplacements, where the shell were unloaded and carried by hand 
to the howitzers. The arrival of the trucks was a most uncertain 
quantity, for all roads in the Argonne were ever congested, were 
invariably deep in slippery mud, and were frequently shelled by the 
Germans. So guards had to be placed on the main road to notify the 
battery of the arrival of the munitions, while the drivers with their 
G.S. carts were often kept waiting for hours on end. Trucks sup- 
posed to reach our position in the early evening generally did not get 
there until midnight or after, but waiting for their arrival was a 
minor circumstance of the hated ammunition detail. Once they 

D'3] 



came, our work really began. The shell were unloaded from the 
camions and piled on the G.S. carts. Four team of horses were 
hitched to each small wagon, and these poor creatures strained every 
muscle to haul their load through the dark over the short stretch of 
spur road, heavy with deep mud and torn by shell holes, mud holes, 
water holes, and every other conceivable kind of treacherous cavity. 
One man had to walk in front of the lead-team to direct its course, 
and he (generally Corporal Jim Murphy) got the full benefit of mud, 
rain, and the variety of holes. During one of these night sessions, 
while Jim was lending his eyes to the lead-team, he made a misstep 
into a shell hole and executed the famous "fall in the Argonne." As 
he arose, covered from head to foot with the Argonne's choicest mud, 
which oozed out of his coat sleeves and every other portion of his 
apparel, he smashed all traditions of military profanity by merely 
extending his dripping arms in an attitude of offended supplication 
and by saying in a voice pitiful enough to extract tears from a stone 
wall, "Look at me." 

With our original supply of ammunition we began operations on 
the 13th, engaging twice that day in counter-battery work. The 
following day we assisted in laying down a barrage, supporting the 
infantry in a successful attack on St. Juvin. In the evening we were 
without ammunition, but at midnight received sixty shell and a few 
boxes of powder, some of which had been rendered unserviceable 
because of dampness. On the 14th, after having taken Grand Pre, 
our infantry was replaced by troops of the 78th Division, but the 
artillery of that division did not move into position until the 1 5th 
and 1 6th, and consequently we were detained to lend our support in 
their absence. From the 1 5th to the 17th our fire was directed against 
Champigneulle and its vicinity. A more detailed summary of our 
missions at La Besogne follows: 

October 13th 

2.46- 3.08 P.M. Counter-battery fire on Belle Rounds 

Joyeuse Ferme, north of Grand 
Pre 40 

4.36- 4.44 P.M. Adjustment on Champigneulle 5 

4.54- 5.00 P.M. Counter-battery fire — direct ob- 

servation — results uncertain — 
mission cancelled because of 
darkness 1 1 



October 14th 

6.30- 9.00 A.M. St. Juvin — one round per gun per Rounds 

minute 
9.00- 9.55 A.M. St. Juvin — one gun per battery, 

one round per minute 277 

October 1 5Lh 

3.40- 3.55 P.M. Machine-gun emplacement in 

southeast part of Champi- 
gneuile 4' 

4.32- 5.00 P.M. Counter-battery fire against a bat- 

tery in action — direct observa- 
tion (target reported on ninth 
round) 43 



October i6th 

1 1.50A.M.-12.12P.M. Champigneulle barrage — observa- 
tion poor 48 
8.10- 9.15 P.M. Demolition fire on Champigneulle 20 

October 17th 
6.00- 6.30 A.M. Demolition fire on Champigneulle 40 

In the early evening of the 13th we thought that the end of the 
world had finally come. The Germans began a great hubbtib against 
our infantry, and a counter-attack of seemingly enormous propor- 
tions was divined. We were not far from the front lines, and im- 
mediately jumped to the conclusion that we would probably have 
to fight for the retention of our howitzers. We did not altogether 
glory in the prospect of instantly converting ourselves into infantry, 
but nevertheless answered the call "stand to arms" with as much 
alacrity as could be expected, the gun crews executing quaint 
manoeuvers in front of the hov/itzers, and the drivers at the bat- 
talion echelon standing by their noble steeds, ready at a moment's 
notice to spur their dashing mounts to the gun emplacements and 
whisk the guns beyond the reach of advancing hordes of Huns. The 
machine-guns were placed at strategic points and a number of men 
were ordered out on the main road to do patrol duty. Thrills were 
abundant throughout the episode. We really expected to see snaky 
figures creeping up to us through the dark of the woods, and when 



a high pitch of this intense expectancy was reached, it was thrilling, 
to say the least, to have a rifle shot off in the immediate vicinity. 
The order to load pieces resulted in several such startling reports, 
and gave us a momentary impression that we were surrounded by 
hidden foes intent on our immediate and complete annihilation. 
Many of us had curious ideas as to loading our weapons. John 
Schurman was discovered with his rifle breech still wrapped in its 
canvas cover, but with blood in his eye and ready, so he thought, to 
blow out the brains of any villainous Boche who dared show him- 
self. An hour of uncertainty and confusion ended with the cessation 
of the bombardment and consequent orders to return to our tents. 

The threatened onslaught seemed amusing after the danger had 
passed, but the following morning we were treated to a bit of hostile 
activity which abated our carefree contempt for the retreating Ger- 
mans and their insignificant raid. While the guns were in action 
and the men at the echelon were standing in line for mess, a num- 
ber of shell exploded near a battery of the 304th Field Artillery, not 
far in advance of us. After raking this area to their heart's con- 
tent, the Germans raised the elevation of their guns, doubtless guided 
in their action by the column of smoke which twisted upward 
from our field kitchen. The mess line scattered with lightning 
rapidity, the men retreating in every direction, falling to the ground 
as the shell burst and hastily rising again to rush a few yards, before 
the whine and explosion of the next projectile sent them sprawling 
for the protection against flying splinters which a reclining posture 
will give. A direct hit riddled the kitchen with holes, and the large 
galvanized cans, which stood at the head of the mess line waiting 
to be emptied of their tempting contents, were cut to ribbons. For 
the first time in many days we were to have had boiled rice for 
breakfast, and great and awful was our consternation at seeing the 
G.I. cans with their precious cargoes scattered broadcast over the 
kitchen area. A few men had been served, but most of us went with- 
out breakfast. Battery "A" had no casualties, though many were 
spattered with mud, blasted by exploding shell, and several had 
miraculous escapes. Battery "B" lost both men and horses. 

Not satisfied with spoiling our morning meal, the Germans again 
lifted the elevation of their gun muzzles, and this time, whether they 
had the gratification of knowing it or not, they came near upsetting 
the equanimity of the howitzers. The fourth piece was in action 
throughout most of the bombardment, and, while no damage was 
done, there were anxious moments as the shell burst near by. One 
projectile exploded in front of the fourth piece, and the latter was 




H.T.FisK 1921 



Exi-b kitcK-eiv! Octoi)£r 14-, 1918. 



ordered to cease fire, a very timely injunction, though we marveled 
at the judgment of the officer who commanded the fourth gun crew 
first to police up the gun-pit, before seeking shelter. Policing gun 
emplacements, battery areas, barracks, towns, and France in general, 
was never neglected under any circumstance — a sort of mania for 
sanitation which seemed to possess the A.E.F., and which was car- 
ried to painful extremes. To fire at the enemy in the face of a 
bombardment is one thing, but to affect a calm contempt of danger 
by picking up cigarette butts and scraps of paper under shell fire is 
foolishly melodramatic. With another raise in elevation the shell 
began to drop in the ravine below our tents, and the prospects of 
a serious bombardment were dispelled. 

Aside from the dismal extermination of our breakfast the shelling 
affected us little. It was responsible, however, for the issuance of an 
order famous in our annals. We were commanded to dig splinter- 
pits near the guns, and, in view of German activity, the order was ex- 
ceedingly pertinent. But difficulty was encountered in executing the 
order, because of a dearth of requisite tools. As a matter of fact there 
were enough picks and spades to enable the gun crews successively to 
comply with the command (a procedure which took place), but the 
natural reaction to a given order is to intimate if possible that the lat- 
ter can never be executed except by enormous effort and a fearful ex- 
penditure of valuable time. The non-coms, on receiving the com- 
mand, therefore looked as wise as they conveniently could and as 
skeptical as possible, and delivered broad hints that there were in- 
superable obstacles to digging those shelter-pits, superbly exaggerat- 
ing the lack of tools and the solidarity of the soil, and attempting 
tacitly to indicate by superior looks of withering scorn, mingled with 
pity, that the order was profoundly ridiculous and the officer who 
delivered it even more ridiculous. In an unguarded moment Lieu- 
tenant Barker met their subtly phrased objections by severely 
telling them to dig up the ground with sticks and bayonets if 
sufficient tools were not available. "Sticks and bayonets" — how 
we gloated over those words as definite proof justifying our convic- 
tion that all officers were "dizzy." "Sticks and bayonets," huh, 

indeed, and how could a man dig a trench three feet deep 

with a twig, and who but a officer would order 

a man to violate military regulations by sticking his bayonet in the 
ground, let alone hacking it to pieces over rocks and roots. Our disgust 
was only surpassed by our indignation, but the latter was pleasantly 
softened by our elation at the conclusive evidence of official "diz- 
ziness." 

[..8] 



An officer, unfortunate soul, is watched by his men as a mouse is 
watched by a cat. His words, actions, bearing, salute, and most 
of ail his attitude toward his command are noticed, discussed, com- 
mended, or damned with heartlessly critical vigilance, and a few 
missteps have lasting effects. How insignificant a matter was the 
incident just recounted, how humorous seems the affected ferocity 
of countenance adopted by many an officer who thought that severe 
looks inspired fearful respect instead of secret amusement, how com- 
paratively unimportant it now appears that an officer stole a few 
cans of the battery's jam or gave orders that dismounted men on a 
hike must be ridden down by the horses behind them if they showed 
signs of slackening the pace. Yet what enormous significance we 
attached to these and countless matters of a similar nature, and how 
great an effect they had on our estimation of the men whom we were 
supposed to obey with unquestioning submissiveness! A man whom 
we respected received unfailing support, for we would be ashamed 
not to do well in his eyes, but a man who could not command our 
loyalty was often obeyed with muttered protests and a sullen look. 
To an officer it perhaps seemed, and possibly was, enough that he 
was obeyed; but it made a deal of difference to our peace of mind 
and the effectiveness of our work whether we could respond to an 
order with willing celerity or with complaining unconcern. 

As another result of the bombardment the kitchen was moved 
into a convenient mud-hole in the bottom of the ravine to our rear, 
and three times a day we slid down the steep hill, slippery with 
mud and fallen leaves, to stand in line for mess. We crept up to 
the serving receptacles, ate out of unclean mess-kits half filled with 
what we dignified by the name of food, rinsed our utensils in a pail 
of water which bore more and more resemblance to the garbage can 
as mess-kit after mess-kit was dipped in its greasy filth, and finally 
plodded up the hill again to hurl our rattling mess gear into our 
tents. There was little laughing in those days, and when an Amer- 
ican soldier cannot laugh there is something radically wrong. The 
trouble lay largely in the inadequate food supply, but also in the fact 
that we were tired, and, whether we realized it or not, were under a 
constant nervous strain. And, too, except for a few thrifty 
individuals, the battery ran out of cigarettes, and the breath of life 
had to be obtained from inhaling "Bull" Durham smoke. Occa- 
sionally, from the main echelon in the rear came a few boxes of 
hard candy accompanied by a scant supply of "tailor mades," but 
otherwise we were destitute of luxuries. 



Yet we were not so miserable as might be, for the air was sur- 
charged with rumors of an armistice. Every courier passing our 
guards at the entrance to the position was put through a rigid though 
rapid cross-examination. The hopeful reports of these individuals 
were to some extent verified by General McCloskey, who visited the 
gun-pits on the afternoon of the i6th. He talked with several of the 
cannoneers, inquired as to their firing, and congratulated us on the 
position. His most appreciated words, however, were to the effect 
that Germany was bidding for a cessation of hostilities, and that 
the American army was preparing to deliver a crushing blow which 
would make the Germans plead, not merely bid, for an armistice. 
As he left, he laughingly cautioned us not to be careless and "get 
knocked off at the last minute." "The end," he said, "is too near in 
sight for that." 

Such statements as these were immensely encouraging, but our 
real joy came when the long-looked-for relief appeared in the form 
of the artillery of the 78th Division. Orders for the relief were 
apparently somewhat indefinite, but we struck tents and prepared 
to move out during the night of the 17th. .All was ready in short 
order, and in high spirits we waited for final instructions, standing 
by the guns, laughing and singing and talking with greatest anima- 
tion. We waited for three hours, only to receive word that we were 
not to move that night. Our spirits dropped to the freezing-point 
and remained there while we dismally unloaded the packs and re- 
pitched our tents. But the morning of the i8th brought the glorious 
news that we were to withdraw that day, and before noon our mov- 
ing orders were executed with a vengeance. Several circumstances 
delayed our departure, but nothing could dampen the extravagant 
ecstasies we felt at the prospect of leaving La Besogne. The 
fourgon conveying the packs broke down, but what cared we for 
such an accident? The less we saw of our packs on a hike the 
better we liked it, and, besides, were we not at last on our way to 
a rest camp, where field equipment might presumably be superfluous? 
The spur road to the main highway had to be repaired and strength- 
ened to withstand the weight of the guns, but what was a little 
manual labor when it would hasten our departure? We would have 
gladly constructed a macadam boulevard all the way to Paris for 
the dear old howitzers. Sixteen horses, spurred to their utmost ef- 
forts, dragged each of the guns to the highway at a pace which 
must have astonished the slovenly old fire-eaters, for they jumped 
and rattled and splashed at a great rate. 

Many horses of the battalion had died or had been killed, and 

[1203 



we were forced to share several of our animals with Battery "B," 
which had lost more horse power than we. Leaving the fourgon 
to the tender mercies of the special detail, the battery marched 
rapidly to the rear, and about 2 p.m. reached our former position 
near Chatel, where the main echelon was still located. Just before 
we resumed the march, some two hours later, another of the series 
of abandoned German dugouts blew up in the valley near our old 
position, and this time we were convinced beyond a doubt that they 
had all been mined for our particular benefit. Men at the echelon 
assured us, however, that one of them had blown up at practically 
the same hour of each of the six days the guns had been forward. 
Hiking along as quickly as might be, we arrived at La Harazee at 
9.30 in the evening. The special detail, after repairing the belated 
fourgon with extra wagon wheels dispatched to them, marched to 
Chatel, spent the night there on the strength of emergency rations 
which they rifled from the packs, and, after witnessing the explosion 
of still another dugout, rejoined the battery on the following after- 
noon. 

For the first time since the beginning of the Argonne drive the 
battery was together in one place, and that place could be nothing 
else to our minds than a point of assemblage before transportation 
to a rest camp. We had no idea where we were going — we never 
had until we got there — but, with the 78th Division in the lines we 
had vacated and with three months of hard campaigning behind us, 
we were certain that a protracted period of rest was ours. We had 
dreamed of a rest area, heard constant rumors about it, devoutly 
prayed for it, and sought it as a man crazed with desert thirst 
will stagger toward the fleeting mirage of an oasis. Reports came 
that the infantry had entrained for the rear, and daily we had 
hopes of following them to some haven of peace, but developments 
soon showed that we would go no farther than La Harazee, and 
that there, within earshot of the distant guns, pounding and rumbling 
away to the north, we would settle ourselves for whatever rest the 
place might afford. 

It came to our attention that La Harazee bore some slight re- 
semblance to the rest area of our imaginings, for we slept long, ate 
three solid meals a day (Mueller was again mess sergeant), and 
had the pleasure of relegating the howitzers to a barn-yard beside 
the road, where each one reclined silently on its limber with its 
muzzle drawn back like the retracted head of a huge turtle. Our 
sleeping quarters for the first night were several old French dug- 
outs cut in the side of the steep hill on the forward edge of the 



road where we were located. These were insufficient to accommodate 
the entire battery comfortably, and even with the supplement of 
several shacks, we had a tight squeeze of it. Two or three of the 
abris were spacious, and, with long galleries running far into the 
hill, were perfectly safe from shell or bombs, but they were not 
large enough, and there was little danger of having to use the gal- 
leries, so orders soon came to pitch tents in the open, a popular 
command, for it meant escape from dark and filthy confinement. 
We had taken our packs across the road to a wide meadow and made 
a start toward establishing a camp when orders were changed (as 
army orders have an uncontrollable weakness for doing) because the 
spot was considered too exposed to aerial observation. Reconnais- 
sance was made for a more suitable position, and finally we erected 
our little squat houses in the underbrush on top of the hill above the 
dugouts, a weary climb to get there, but a healthy and secluded 
spot. 

Thus settled in our "rest camp," we looked forward to long hours 
of delightful loafing, unmolested, except for a few necessary details, 
by the prodding goad of official commands. And indeed, as already 
mentioned, we enjoyed undisturbed slumber from sundown to sun- 
rise, and got plenty of desirable food, some of which was purchased 
with the battery fund at neighboring towns, and all of which was 
prepared under the supervision of that master magician, Henry 
Mueller, whose imagination and culinary skill could even camou- 
flage corned willy beyond recognition. And, too, our days were not 
without their hours of pleasant leisure, for we wrote many letters 
and consumed inordinate quantities of nicotine; yet with all our com- 
parative freedom from the exacting requirements of campaigning, 
we soon found that "rest area" is a monstrous misnomer. Standing 
for over an hour in a pouring rain awaiting our turn for a bath con- 
vinced us of that, and when a schedule of intensive training was an- 
nounced we definitely concluded that "rest area" was a term coined 
by the hoary devil himself, and designed to blast the hopes of weary 
men who were fiendishly led to believe that the "rest" of a soldier 
is like the rest of a human being. 

Sunday, the 20th, found us in line before the bath-house. When 
our turn came to enter that temple of cleanliness, we peeled ofl" our 
clothes and cast them into classified salvage heaps, retaining only 
our shoes and identification tags; and, fortified with pocket-handker- 
chief towels, entered the shower tent with the sincere hope of at least 
softening the encasement of grime which cleaved to us like a suit 
of armor. 

1:122] 




G2tsm^n^^av^jdP^^ y^ntf 



Au 









^//^inp n<^BP DanQizvoz/o 



At the blast of a shrill whistle, ten naked, shivering men stepped 
under the trickling showers. "Five minutes to soap up," came the 
command, and at the expiration of that brief period, when we were 
all enveloped in a seething froth of soap-suds, a second order was 
yelled at us, 'Three minutes to wash off." This was occasion for 
a great deal of rubbing and splashing and waving of arms and 
legs. When the water was shut off at the end of the eight min- 
utes, we transferred the last few pounds of dirt to the towels, left 
the shower room, and passed into what might well have been 
called the refrigerator tent, where a series of tables, piled high 
with bales of equipment, awaited our shivering attention. The man 
behind a counter took a flying glance at the proportions of our re- 
spective anatomies, ably estimated the needed size of a desired gar- 
ment with an eye so keen that, as like as not, he would deftly throw 
a forty-two shirt at a twenty-two chest, and answered our injured 
looks at receiving a misfit by gruffly telling us to move on. In fact 
the place seemed infested with men who told us to "Move on," 
"Shake it up," "Do up your leggings outside," "Hurry up, others be- 
hind you," "No time for exchanges," "Keep moving, men, keep mov- 
ing," until we foamed at the mouth trying to get into our clothes and 
out of the tent at the same time. 

Now there is something altogether satisfactory about being in new 
clothes, the kind of feeling which promotes the hotel-lobby walk, 
a sensation of superiority which knows that every one is looking, 
or at least ought to be looking, at the razor-like crease in your 
trousers and the neat turn of your new shoes; but the pride we felt 
in the uniforms we found hanging loosely about us or clinging 
tightly to us was a pride more pitiful than anything else. A scare- 
crow would have looked immaculate beside us. However, a number 
of men were favored by the Fates who controlled the promiscuous 
distribution of the equipment, and these fortunate idols of fashion, 
immensely pleased with themselves, emerged from the clothing tent 
in garments fit for a king's body-guard. But it mattered little 
whether or not we resembled royal guardsmen or the spotless figures 
which adorn army posters and convey the impression that the 
raiment of an American soldier is made by the leading tailors of 
the world. More important than our appearance was the fact that 
we all had a sort of open, cool, washed feeling, and that the sensation 
was unutterably delightful. 

Our disillusionment with regard to the character of a rest camp 
was complete when the schedule of intensive training began to 
operate. We cleaned and greased the guns; we attempted to en- 



gage in close order drill in the meadow where we first started to pitch 
our tents (the drill was almost as uneven as the meadow); and we 
were given lectures on the nomenclature of the six-inch howitzer; 
but the most amazing feature of the schedule was standing gun drill. 
The latter performance, being one of those martial manceuvers never 
used in the field but considered vital as training for field-work, had 
not engaged our attention since we left the sands of Camp de Souge. 
"Action front," "Action rear," and "Call oft," inspired only a faint 
recollection of the agile movements called for by those commands, 
and "Cannoneers, change posts," resulted in a wild scramble and the 
complete disintegration of the gun crew concerned. The schedule 
also entailed a thorough cleaning of our rifles. An inspection of 
firearms disclosed heavy incrustations of rust in the rifles of several 
delinquents, and a detail was made up of these transgressors to 
clean all the rifles in the battery, a disciplinary measure which de- 
lighted every one but the unfortunate members of the detail. 

If our would-be rest camp failed to supply us all the leisure we 
had expected, it also failed to offer refuge from hostile activity. On 
the night of October 21st, the unsteady hum of an aeroplane was 
heard overheard. Cries of "Lights out, lights out," left the battery 
area black as pitch, and soon thereafter the sickening crash of bombs, 
bursting on a cross-roads near by, gave us grave doubts as to the 
safety of rest camps. Suddenly machine-guns opened fire above us 
and a stream of tracer bullets, looking like meteors streaking the sky, 
was directed promiscuously over the vicinity. Men in the dugouts, 
one of which had been converted into a recreation room, retreated 
into the galleries, while those in their tents on top of the hill rushed 
helter-skelter to seek the shelter of trees. There were no casualties 
in Battery "A," but an ambulance carried away a man from another 
organization. The following day a pipe, filled with explosive, the 
kind of instrument used in blasting barbed wire entanglements, ac- 
cidentally blew up a few hundred yards down the road, killing and 
seriously injuring a number of men in Battery "E." 

In such circumstances it is not surprising that we tenderly fondled 
every rumor which prophesied our entrainment for the S.O.S., and 
there were any number of such reports to enliven our hopes for a 
real rest camp. Lieutenants Barker, Hogg, and Balph departed on 
furlough, and leaves of absence were ordered to be granted to a 
limited number of men. This promised well, for it seemed probable 
that we would be out of the lines for some time to come, and that 
these privileged absentees would be subsequently directed to join us 
at some point far in the rear. A hurricane of rumors swept through 

i:'24] 



the battery. We would be sent to the S.O.S. immediately. We 
would remain at La Harazee in reserve. We would move closer to 
the lines. We would join the offensive once more. We would go 
to another front. No, we would depart in a day or two for a rest 
camp. Of course we would go to a rest camp, for the infantry was 
already on its way! Dazed by these conflicting reports, each one 
boasting to be authentic, we consulted the more approachable of- 
ficers for enlightened information, but were only told that orders 
had been changed a dozen or so times since our arrival and that 
the future remained as obscure as ever. On the morning of October 
24th all uncertainty was cruelly banished by horrifying instruc- 
tions to pack up and return to the front. Our hopes were shat- 
tered, and it seemed that the bottom of the world had fallen into 
space. The howitzers never appeared more hateful, our packs 
never more burdensome, the horses never more troublesome, and 
La Harazee never more peaceful. It seemed as if army life was 
naught but a series of disappointments, a life which might find its 
most adequate description in the word "damn." 

About the middle of the afternoon the battery began the march 
forward. We had received no replacements for our lost horses, and 
it was necessary to leave part of the battery with the vehicles which 
could not be moved. A rear echelon was therefore established at 
La Harazee. The rest of us took to the road toward Le Four de 
Paris, turned there to the left, and proceeded up the long hill on 
which we had never expected to set our muddy shoes again. We 
had not gone far when Acherino inadvertently put one of his feet in 
the path of the third piece. His foot was crushed under one of the 
heavy rear wheels, and he was immediately removed to the hospi- 
tal. To our depression the regrettable accident could only be in- 
terpreted as an ill omen of future disaster, and our spirits slumped 
still further. At 8.30 in the evening we reached our old rendezvous, 
Chatel, where a "stop-order" caused a halt for the night. Iron 
rations constituted the evening meal. Tents were pitched on the 
same ground previously occupied by the former echelon. A second 
echelon was established here and the next morning the battery, now 
reduced to the special detail, firing sections, and the gun drivers, 
resumed the march and hiked slowly to La Besogne. Here a few 
horses and carts, retained for ammunition work, constituted a third 
and forward echelon. The rest of the horses that accompanied the 
howitzers to La Besogne were sent back to Chatel together with 
their drivers. The kitchen was again placed in the ravine in back 



of the emplacements, tents were pitched in the same area as before, 
and the guns were heaved into their former pits. 

Though the gun platforms and the sand-bags from the revetment 
had been removed during our absence, presumably by the departed 
French battery which had occupied a position to our right, yet the 
emplacements were soon renovated, and with their renovation there 
was little for us to do in preparation for firing. Anticipating the 
possible necessity of having to operate the guns under shell fire, 
orders were given to build protective walls of dirt and saplings in 
front of the pieces, but the execution of the command was a diffi- 
cult matter and was finally abandoned. We otherwise prepared for 
a bombardment by excavating the earth under our tents, but even 
with these and other labors we were soon confronted with the 
astonishing and most unusual circumstance that there was no more 
work to be done until operations should commence. On the after- 
noon of the 27th, we fired twenty rounds for adjustment on Cham- 
pigneulle, but, aside from that occasion, the guns were silent for 
seven days from the time of our arrival. With the days hanging 
on our hands, we began to think that front-line work was far prefer- 
able to the strenuous activities of a rest area. There at La Besogne, 
once the position was in tiptop condition, we enjoyed considerably 
more rest than we could ever get by doing squads right on a drill 
field in the S.O.S. The pleasant idleness of our existence reminded 
us of the quiet serenity of the Lorraine sector, but it also reminded 
us of the calm before a storm. 

That a storm was coming could not be doubted. Rumor had it 
that the pending attack was to be tremendous, and well we could 
believe it, for a multitude of troops were moving into line and 
quantities of guns passed the entrance to our position. We got some 
conception of the amount of artillery to be employed by the ad- 
justment firing which was conducted in the vicinity. On all sides 
of us we recognized batteries which had not been in position during 
our former occupation of La Besogne. The adjustment fire was 
always brief, for orders forbade extensive artillery operations in 
order that positions might not be disclosed to the enemy nor 
the nature and extent of the attack revealed. Our front was there- 
fore as calm as a Sunday morning, though the Germans were un- 
usually active. Most of their firing was done at night, and one bat- 
tery sent over a few shell at the same hour every morning. We 
dubbed it "The 3.54 Express." Day after day the front remained 
strangely quiet, except for the fitful restlessness of the German ar- 
tillery, and we began to wonder if the attack had not been aban- 



doned. Rumors about a cessation of hostilities were stronger than 
ever, and some of us thought that negotiations for an armistice must 
be already in progress, to keep the lines so placid. But the latter idea 
made little headway, for a memorandum from divisional head- 
quarters was posted outside the P. C, urging us not to slacken our 
efforts because of false reports concerning an impending armistice. 
It further cautioned us that the Germans were massing large num- 
bers of troops with the evident determination of stopping our ad- 
vance at all costs. It pointed out that we were about to attack a 
most vital part of the enemy line, and implored us to remember that 
the blow was aimed at the hinges of the door to Germany, and that, 
if the Germans would not yield, we must batter down that door. 

On the evening of October 31st, the officers were confident that 
the attack would commence during the early hours of the following 
morning, and final preparations were accordingly made. In order to 
test the lighting systems at the gun-pits, standing gun drill was con- 
ducted for half an hour in the early evening, the mechanics being 
called upon to thoroughly inspect the batteries of the lighting devices. 
This over, we rolled in our blankets to snatch what rest we could 
before the momentous hour should arrive. At 4 a.m. the call came 
and we crawled hastily from the warmth of our blankets, put on 
our shoes without even lacing them, and rushed up to the gun-pits. 
It was still dark, though clear, and was bitterly cold. Our firing was 
by command of Field Order No. 59, Headquarters Seventy-seventh 
Division, October 30th, and the artillery annex thereto. We took 
part in no barrage, but were assigned several targets, as follows: 



5.00- 5.30 A.M. 


Target "G" 




90 Rounds 


5.30- 6.00 A.M. 


" "C" 




150 


6.20- 6.30 A.M. 


" "Q" 




30 


6.30- 7.15 A.M. 


" "W 




90 


7.30- 9.00 A.M. 


" "0" 




90 


9.30-10.26 A.M. 


■ " "S" 




28 


2.04-12. 10 P.M. 


Emergency 


Fire 


21 



The last twenty-one rounds were called for because of unexpected 
resistance, encountered by the infantry within and around Champi- 
gneulle. After seven hours' duty at the pieces we thought we had 
done a good day's work, but Battery "A" was selected to fire at 
fleeting targets under the direction of aeroplane observation, and 
consequently we had to remain at the guns throughout the after- 
noon, ready for instant service. The compensating factor of en- 
gaging in this additional work was that we were presumably chosen 
for the task because of the accuracy of our fire. 



On the following morning, from 5.30 to 7.05, we fired 195 rounds, 
the howitzers blurting forth the last four shots in noisy unison. 
That volley was our final message to the Germans and ended our 
active participation in the Meuse offensive, though we had no idea 
at that time that we would never again hear the ear-splitting roar 
of our guns, nor see them violently dig their scarred spades against 
revetments. Had we known that never more would we fire another 
round, we might have rammed home those last four shell with even 
more energy, and we might have pulled the lanyards just a shade 
harder, to emphasize our final expression of defiance to the Boches 
and to impress upon the howitzers that their days of boisterous 
liveliness were over. As it was, we looked on that last mission as 
merely one of a series to follow, and when orders came instructing 
us to move forward after the now rapidly retreating Germans, we 
saw nothing ahead of us but more emplacements to be dug, more 
shelter-pits to be excavated, and more ammunition to gouge our 
shoulders. An order permitting us to build fires was received over 
the telephone, and we knew that the enemy must be withdrawing 
very swiftly to allow such a laxity of camouflage discipline. It was 
the first real indication that Germany was done for, and while we 
saw further duty before us, the persistent rumors of an armistice 
which we had lately heard won our confident credence. But, mind- 
ful of the admonitory memorandum from headquarters, we were not 
unduly hopeful, and responded to moving orders with the thought 
that there were still days of fighting before us. 

We had expected to spend the night at La Besogne, but soon after 
dark were told that we must be at Verpel by seven o'clock the fol- 
lowing morning. The guns were limbered, tents struck, packs rolled, 
telephone wires hauled in, the tarpaulin of the P. C. pulled down, 
and the horses hitched to the guns and conveyances — all in such 
haste that we were on the main road close to midnight, ready to 
chase the Germans wherever they might lead us. Due to a scarcity 
of horses, the first piece was left in position, together with a con- 
siderable amount of special detail paraphernalia, guarded by a small 
detail under Lieutenant Balph. Before starting on our way, an over- 
loaded fourgon turned on its side on the spur road, was unpacked 
and left to be extricated in the light of day. At i a.m. the march 
began. The night was drizzly and extremely dark, though, for once, 
the latter circumstance hindered our progress to no great extent, 
for we were enabled to employ lanterns to light our way. We pro- 
ceeded through Chevieres about four kilometers to Marcq, which 
we reached in the neighborhood of 4 a.m. Here, in accordance 



with a stop-order, the battalion discontinued the march. Only one 
battalion in each regiment of the brigade was ordered to advance, 
and in the 306th the task fell to Batteries "E" and "F." Two cir- 
cumstances contributed to the issuance of this order: one that all the 
guns in the brigade would have found difficulty in effectually fol- 
lowing up the retreat, due to the fact that horse-flesh was a scarce 
commodity; the other that, as the German retirement progressed, 
the nine divisions in the field at the beginning of the offensive were 
converging on to a much narrower front, a circumstance which over- 
crowded all thoroughfares and demanded a diminution of traffic. 
iMost of the horses of the First and Second Battalions, together with 
their drivers, were sent with the Third Battalion to assist the latter 
in its rapid advance to the north. Without delay all our teams, ex- 
cept those necessary for the conveyance of the water and ration carts, 
were ordered forward under Lieutenant Barker, who accepted the 
inevitable with extraordinary equanimity. The lieutenant and his 
large detail of the battery pursued the Boches up to the signing of 
the armistice, which found them in Raucourt and the outskirts of 
Sedan. 

The personnel of the battery was now stationed at various points 
all the way from La Harazee to the lines of advance, and the task 
of assembling them was begun at once. By November 6th the en- 
tire battery was collected at Marcq with the exception of the men 
with the Third Battalion, and by the same date it became evident 
that our days of fighting were over, and that it was a matter of 
hours before an armistice would be signed. For the first time since 
we left Lorraine we really relaxed. 



[:'29] 



Cooties 

BY VERNON B. SMITH 

I WHO have the cooties, 

List to the wail of my song, 
Hear my cry: in my bunk I lie, 

Scratching all night long. 

By the light of the candle gleaming. 

After the day is done. 
Then I hunt my tormentors, 

Catching them one by one. 

How they crack as I pinch them 

Or pop in the candle's flame; 
Swiftly they flee before me. 

Fast I pursue my game. 

Each has a brand upon him. 
Stained with my heart's own blood; 

Angrily I nab them. 

And flick them into the mud. 

I told the doctor insomnia 

Kept me awake at night. 
But he knew that wasn't my trouble 

When he held my shirt in the light. 

Whenever 1 stand at "Attention" 

Under an officer's gaze, 
In droves they flock to their feeding-ground 

And on me start to graze. 

"Smith, what is the matter, 

I didn't give a Rest." 
"It's only a starving cootie, sir, 

Biting me on the chest." 



Then to myself I mutter, 

"I'll make those cooties pay; 
I'll burn them to-night in the candlelight. 

Before I hit the hay." 

Close to the light I hold my shirt, 

Nor heed the chill night air, 
But track the louse and his cunning spouse 

Into their seamy lair. 

I'm as lousy as a cuckoo, 

And I'm not the only bum 
Who sits at night by the candlelight. 

Cracking them one by one. 



D3>3 




MssPkir^ Time 





jNY one who was not at the front, or near it, at the 
time of the signing of the armistice might expect to 
find in these pages a glowing description of wild ex- 
citement at the news of Germany's capitulation. 
Paris was drunk with exultation, its boulevards in an 
uproar; London streets were a seething mass of peo- 
ple, shouting, singing, dancing, cheering, and blowing 
horns; and New York City, true to American tradi- 
tions of precipitous haste, noisily celebrated the armistice five days 
before it was signed. But the battered town of Marcq, on the very 
scene of martial operations, was as quiet as a church. For several 
days before definite news arrived, we knew, as did every one near and 
far, that Germany was about to cry enough, and the expectation of 
pending negotiations kept us in a state of mild satisfaction; but 
when the memorable day arrived there were no bursts of enthusiasm, 
no ringing huzzas, no unconstrained, impetuous celebrations. To be 
sure, our thoughts were turned toward home, and with home thus 
brought in sight we were elevated to unusual planes of fervent hope 
and confident expectancy. A whole army of rumors paraded through 
the village, and we reviewed the procession with eager attention, 
but our lives in Marcq, before and after the signing of the armistice, 
were so much occupied with the routine of military duties that the 
tremendous announcement that the war was actually over made 
curiously little impression. We were far more anxious to know that 
we would get steak for dinner than that the world had been made 
safe for democracy. 

Something of the same disposition showed itself in the first troops 
to be landed in New York from the A.E.F. Their transport was met 
in New York Harbor by a tremendous fleet of ferries, yachts, tug- 
boats, and other craft, all crowded to overflowing with cheering New 
Yorkers, waving flags, and hurling cigarettes, candy, and news- 
papers at the khaki-colored objects of their enthusiastic welcome. 
Through a megaphone from one of the boats Mayor Hylan delivered 
a stirring oration of welcome. He eloquently, almost tearfully. 




T/)t"Ayj!iz" 3rest Camp 




A, /^ew non-ComSj ."^n^SL 






J 



extolled the heroism of the American soldiers who had fought so val- 
iantly in France. The applauders of heroism only waste their words 
on heroes, for the reply to his emotional address, and the response 
given to all this rousing reception, was the battle-cry of the Amer- 
ican army which raised itself from the crowded decks of the trans- 
port with staccato emphasis, "When — do — we — eat?" 

Likewise in Marcq, we were more vitally concerned with that same 
pressing question than with profound thoughts on the deliverance of 
the world's civilization from the threatened yoke of German autoc- 
racy. Matters of the moment clouded our appreciation of Ger- 
many's surrender. Our life in Marcq was, in fact, a composite of the 
lives of a soldier, a gardener, a street-cleaner, and, lastly, of a sailor, 
derelict on a sea of uncertainty, searching desperately, yet hopefully, 
for a friendly sail to carry him home. 

As to gardening, we had ample opportunity to display horticultural 
aptitude by gathering large quantities of vegetables from the 
spacious gardens which the Germans had planted on the outskirts 
of the village to the north and northwest of our billets. The im- 
mense portions of fresh vegetables, served to us at every meal, more 
than made up for a deficit in army rations, which could hardly have 
been fifty per cent, issue at the time, and also satisfied the accrescent 
appetites which we had developed since our departure from La 
Harazee. Potatoes, carrots, beets, cauliflower, Brussels sprouts, 
onions, leeks, celery, and a huge supply of cabbage — these and other 
undreamed of luxuries gave the battery a new lease on life, and pro- 
duced marked effects on the health and dispositions of us all. 

But if our propensity for gardening was conspicuous, our 
proclivity for street cleaning was no less in evidence. In fact so 
excessive was the frenzy for order and sanitation that we cleaned 
not only the streets, with their beautiful manure piles (accumulated 
through the centuries), but swept our billets until they looked 
radiantly sanitary, washed and painted the howitzers until they ap- 
peared so disgustingly new that no one would have suspected that 
the battery had ever seen any action, scrubbed out all available 
stables for the use of the horses when the latter should return from 
the front, and finally, by means of a German bath-house, renovated 
under the supervision of Captain Kirkpatrick, washed our own 
bodies until they almost glistened. A cootie that could not swim 
had not the ghost of a chance, but the trouble was that they were 
all preeminently aquatic. 

When we were not gardening or purifying our environment we 
were drilling through the muddy streets of Marcq, hiking to 

c:>333 



Chevieres, Grand Pre, or St. Juvin, standing guard, waiting in line 
at the "Y" canteen, eating vegetables, sleeping, gathering fire-wood 
for the billets, writing letters, and in other ways demonstrating our 
continued existence in Mr. Wilson's army. One alleviating feature 
of our schedule was the rifle range, constructed in a field to the north 
of our billets. A number of us fired our rifles for the first time, and 
it was gratifying, after having carried them about France for six 
months, to give them a little exercise. The range afforded a good 
deal of fun. Inspections were plentiful, and one day an inspecting 
colonel blustered into town from nowhere and fairly turned the 
regiment upside down. He first made an assault on Battery "A." 
Nothing suited him. The kitchen was dirty, the cooks were dirty, 
the billets were dirty. He burst into the battery office like a hurri- 
cane, and asked forty-eleven questions before Corporal Dunkak could 
take a breath to answer the first one. Then he attacked "B" Bat- 
tery, and we heard him bustling down the street bawling at a Bat- 
tery "B" officer, "Your kitchen's dirty, cooks're dirty, billets're 
dirty." We didn't doubt that he had chanted the same refrain to 
every organization in the A.E.F., and valued his criticisms accord- 
ingly. 

At 10 A.M. on Sunday, November loth, a battalion church forma- 
tion was held in the courtyard of the chateau which constituted our 
main billet, held at the command of Major Dick, in anticipation of 
the armistice and to commemorate the termination of our six months 
of foreign service. With shoes polished, uniforms brushed up, 
cartridge-belts stripped of ammunition, canteen, and first-aid packet, 
and with gloves on our hands, we looked more presentable than we 
had in many a long day. Together with "B" Battery, we were 
ranged around the grass-plot in the center of the courtyard. The 
major spoke about the development of the two batteries and what 
they had done. He remarked on the change he had seen come over 
us as we evolved from raw recruits at Upton to the veterans who 
stood before him. He commended us on our accomplishments in 
France, and then, musing solemnly on the part we had played in 
the World War, he gave vent to an immortal phrase which remained 
a battery slogan for months. "You've got something out of the war," 
he said. "You've got something that nobody can take away from 
you!" For one horrible, breathless moment we thought he meant 
the cooties, but swiftly dismissed the idea because we were rea- 
sonably certain that nobody would covet such possessions anyway. 
We anxiously waited to discover what it was that we had, but only 
received the comforting information, impressed upon us repeatedly 



and in a variety of ways, that we had some priceless thing of which 
we never could be deprived, something we never could lose. It 
sounded as if it might be some terrible disease, and faint murmurs 
whispered through the assembly, "What is it?" Throughout the 
speech the conundrum remained unsolved, but, at its close, we were 
certain that assuredly we must possess something of immeasurable 
value. Our confidence in the fact swelled to magnificent proportions, 
and for the rest of the day we strutted about announcing to each 
other with unbounded pride, "You've got something that can't be 
taken away from you." In a lucid moment some one was inspired 
with the thought that the major referred to the satisfaction we should 
feel for playing our parts so well, but so few of us were satisfied with 
our lives in the army that the interpretation was dismissed as pre- 
posterous. 

When the major finished his address, Lieutenant Thomas spoke 
a few words, warning us not to be too complacent over our con- 
tributions to the great victory. We had every right to be proud, 
but we must never forget the years of greater suffering borne by our 
allies, to whom the credit for the victory must largely go. He spoke 
of the losses our armies had sustained, and in particular mentioned 
the tragic death of Lieutenant Reid. The service was concluded 
with a prayer of thanks for our deliverance and a prayer for those 
at home. 

The following day, mud-bespattered motor-cycle couriers were 
racing tovv^ard the front line, and the news of the armistice, with its 
consequent order to cease fire at 1 1 a.m., was received. As the 
definite verification of the expected announcement spread through 
the battery, some of us may have been sitting in a cabbage patch, 
some picking up cigarette butts, some peeling potatoes, some groom- 
ing horses, some sweeping out the billets, some saluting officers, some 
cursing the army, and some cursing each other. In any case the 
reaction to the news was not of a startling nature. As mentioned 
before, we uttered no shrieks of joy, we waved no flags, we flourished 
no bunting, and we made no comments on the salvation of the world. 
We stopped our respective occupations long enough to say, "Oh, 
boy, home for us," and went on skinning potatoes, beheading cab- 
bages, and casting insults at the American uniform. In contrast to 
the celebrations which occurred in some places our attitude was com- 
paratively calm, yet we wanted above all things to get home, and 
our thoughts in that respect were more elated than the above de- 
scription would perhaps indicate. When we had our minds set on 
the attainment of something, a hoard of comforting rumors inevi- 

[■35] 



tably arrived to inflame our hopes. With the armistice came the 
expectation of sailing to America before the end of the year, and 
the number of rumors which substantiated the reasonableness of 
that hope was astonishing. They all indicated definitely that we 
would be home by Christmas. We overlooked the fact that no 
year was mentioned, but argued ourselves into believing that we 
would set out for a port of embarkation within a week or two. Was 
not the Seventy-seventh the first National Army division to reach 
France, and did not New York want a big parade immediately, and 
would not New York money pull the necessary strings in Washing- 
ton, and did we not have it on sound authority that the general 
was betting a month's salary that we would be home for Christmas 
dinner? Well, I should say so! Why of course the Seventy-seventh 
would be one of the very first divisions to leave. However, there 
were some who expressed their distrust of all rumors as being cruel, 
unreliable monsters of deception, and accordingly claimed that they 
would never believe that they were out of the army until they felt 
a pair of garters clasping their calves. 

Armistice Day was declared a holiday. We calmly accepted the 
armistice as a matter of course, but we sang joyful p?eans in be- 
half of the holiday, for it brought exemption from drill and other 
martial inconveniences. In the afternoon competitive games were 
held between the two batteries of the battalion, and by means of 
Ceccarilli, Cavaggioni, DeBerg, and other herculean prodigies (all 
reinforced with German vegetables) we pulled "B" Battery off their 
feet in a tug-of-war contest. We liked to beat Battery "B" in any- 
thing, and generally did. 

Sunday, the 24th, was Father's Day, and every man was urged to 
write a victory letter to his father. 

Thanksgiving Day came the following Thursday, and with it an 
orgy of speechmaking. The regiment collected before a platform 
built in the town square. The speakers were Colonel Winn, Lieu- 
tenant Thomas, the Mayor of Marcq, and the Mayor of St. Juvin. 
The 306th band was there to lend its martial notes to the occasion, 
and for the benefit of the several Frenchmen (including the hon- 
orable mayors) who assembled on the platform, we sang a few army 
songs, doubtless carrying out their conviction that we were all 
American Indians. The mayors addressed a few remarks to us, but, 
on the whole, they both needed lessons from Demosthenes. One of 
them arose at Lieutenant Thomas's introduction, turned his cap 
around and around with fumbling hands, and said "Je vous remercie" 
through his drooping black mustache so many times that we were 

i:'36] 



not at all impressed with his knowledge of French. We never 
gathered whether he was thanking us for our applause, for per- 
sonally winning the war, or for cleaning up the streets. Colonel 
Winn spoke of the indomitable spirit we had displayed through 
the fight. He said that often he had had to give his officers and 
men tasks which he himself saw no way of accomplishing, and that, 
when he had asked them how they expected to carry out his orders, 
the answer invariably came, "Oh, I will do it somehow, some way." 
He further remarked that we ought to be very very thankful that 
we were returning to homes physically untouched by the war, and 
to towns in no such pitiful condition as the one in which we were 
billeted. His words were not lost on us, for we saw several refugees 
return to their battered houses in Marcq, and were thankful that 
ours had been safe from the ravages of shell and bombs. The colonel 
concluded his speech by telling us that we were entering the most 
disheartening period of the war, that of demobilization. He said 
that if any man wanted to get home more than he did that man 
would have to "want some." He urged us to be patient and to keep 
up our spirits through the trying experience of waiting for dis- 
charge. How well he knew what he was talking about! 

We had expected to gorge ourselves on a huge Thanksgiving din- 
ner, but Sergeant Mueller and the detail which accompanied him 
to Chalons-sur-Marne to buy provisions for the feast could not get 
back in time. Consequently we ate corned willy and cabbage; but 
the following day we had the best meal we ever ate in France. 
Among other delicacies the menu boasted roast lamb, mashed pota- 
toes, luscious thick gravy, celery, cabbage, sprouts, rice pudding, 
coffee, cheese, candy, nuts, and vin rouge, or what is more commonly 
known as "red ink." Each man was given a cup of the wine. For 
some time we had observed total abstinence from all forms of al- 
cohol, and the effects of this generous allotment were sudden and 
striking. The battery laughed considerably louder than usual and 
grew intensely argumentative. Potts and Gill were both inflamed 
with the conviction that they had great cursorial propensities and 
could beat each other in a hundred-yard dash. A vociferous chal- 
lenge ensued, and the contestant sprinters adjourned to the muddy 
street to demonstrate the veracity of their claims for pedestrian 
prowess. The race was neck and neck, but it was whispered about 
that Potts lost by a hair's breadth. Furthermore, the fire-water 
vivified our visions of home and increased our faith in all reports 
which promised to send us there before the first of the year. 

We left our comfortable homes in Marcq on the last day of No- 

i:"37] 



vember, and, extraordinary to relate, we departed in motor trucks. 
We arrived in Autry toward evening, and were quartered in a park 
which apparently had been used by the Germans as a dump for 
artillery and engineering supplies. Our barracks were filthy and 
the night extremely cold, so we have no pleasant recollections of 
Autry, especially as we waited at the station all the following day 
before entraining. At i a.m. of December 2d our train, composed 
of spacious American freight-cars, an American engine, and an 
American crew, began what proved to be a comparatively com- 
fortable trip. With ample space to stretch ourselves, stoves to warm 
our feet, and straw to lie upon, we considered ourselves fortunate, 
and praised all the saints of every known religion that we were 
not cramped into "Hommes 40 — Chevaux 8." During the day we 
stopped at a station where several Boche prisoners were attempting 
to load an auto-truck on a flat-car. Some of us got out and 
showed them how it should be done, much to the disgust of the 
French guards. When we left, the Germans had been shorn of every 
button their shabby uniforms possessed, but, in recompense, their 
pockets bulged with francs. In the early morning of the 3d we 
reached Latracey, and, detraining, had a meager breakfast in a field 
opposite the station. Major-General Alexander was there to meet 
us, and strutted like a turkey up and down the length of the train, 
looking infinitely proud of himself and us and the American army 
in general. Short and stocky in build, energetic in manner, saluting 
with studied deliberation, his overseas cap tilted jauntily on an abun- 
dance of iron gray hair, he presented a most formidable appearance. 
At 2.30 P.M., after a deal of fuss and worry getting our equipment 
packed on the wagons, and a deal of trouble collecting some of the 
battery from a convenient saloon by the roadside, we hiked oif up 
the road with full packs and empty stomachs. Dancevoir was our 
destination, and we arrived there in the late afternoon. We spent 
most of the evening looking for wine. The price of liquor reached 
appalling heights within two days. 

We expected that our stay in Dancevoir would be only long enough 
to enable us to check up equipment, turn in our howitzers, and 
bring the paper work of the battery up to the minute, preparatory 
to an early departure for a port of embarkation. The hope of reach- 
ing the United States before Christmas had dwindled away, but we 
still clung to the chance of getting home by New Year's Day. It 
seems ridiculous now that we could have entertained such a hope, 
yet there were many who did so. As the days dragged themselves 
into v/eeks, reports crept to us that every division had to go through 

D38] 



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Z. 5 5^2r_.e^ ■ i6'/^/^5^C/^5 



Le Mans area before sailing, that the sick and wounded were to be 
the first to leave France, and that the Seventy-seventh was far down 
the sailing list of departing troops. There was nothing before us 
but waiting, and we came to the realization that Colonel Winn's 
remarks about the trying monotony of the period of demobilization 
were truly spoken. We had been satisfied to rest a while in Marcq, 
for we needed rest badly and were comfortably settled in the battered 
old village, but soon after we reached Dancevoir the reaction to this 
welcome idleness set in and we became restless and dissatisfied. 

We can now look back on the period of demobilization with calm 
thoughts, but at the time our thoughts were anything but tranquil, 
and the worst of it was that we had ample opportunity to think. 
During the hardships of campaigning we led primarily a physical 
life, and had comparatively little chance to direct our attention 
toward anything but food, rest, and the work in hand. We were 
busy, often night and day, busy with hard work of a most serious 
nature with a definite goal ahead of us to spur us on, but with the 
signing of the armistice our goal was attained and we had no aim 
in life but to get home, no function but to wait for discharge. With 
Germany's capitulation the usefulness of the army collapsed, and, 
to a great extent, we collapsed with it in a heap of fretful impatience. 

Major Dick tried to impress it upon us that, while the war was 
over, we must prepare for the next war. The speech was doubtless 
intended to give us some purpose to sustain us in our martial ac- 
tivities, something to work for, but if that was the major's intention 
he sadly underestimated the intelligence of his men. We hooted at 
the idea of doing "Arms to the thrust — Move" in order to get in 
trim for the "next war." We were kept on the jump with every 
variety of drill, infantry and artillery, with inspections, guard duty, 
and a host of other military performances, largely for the sake of 
being saved from the demoralization of idleness. It is fortunate 
that we were preoccupied even with tasks which were distasteful to 
us, for had we been totally idle we would have worked ourselves into 
a fury of impatience which might have resulted in the organized 
decapitation of every individual who dared show himself in a Sam 
Browne belt. But to be busy just for the sake of being busy was 
a procedure which could hope to gain only half-hearted support. 

It is not an altogether pleasant task to convey in these pages the 
atmosphere of that last phase of our history. It was full of enmity 
for some of our officers, full of dissatisfaction, full of impatient com- 
plaining, full of the monotonous existence of an army which has 
nothing useful to do, nothing to work for except to get out of uni- 



form, nothing to think about except the undesirability of war and 
the desirability of an impossibly speedy discharge. The editors 
would take great pleasure in overlooking all the unpleasantness of 
that final phase. They would prefer to dwell entirely on the cir- 
cumstances and incidents which produce a smile or a reminiscent 
chuckle. Yet to do so would be to write fiction, not history, and 
the battery wishes a history of its experiences. 

Dancevoir was the first inhabited town we had been in since our 
hike to the Argonne, yet so far as mud was concerned we might as 
well have been back at Abri St. Louis. Most of the battery was 
housed in two barracks situated in a sunken area below the main 
road of the village, a road which had been dignified with the name 
of Rue des Etats-Unis. The area contained two other barracks of 
similar proportions, one occupied by the "Y," the other by men of 
"B" Battery. All four buildings had been thoughtfully set in a sea 
of mud, in some places ankle deep, and in all places deep enough to 
make matters very disagreeable. The ground never dried, for it 
rained frequently, and our feet were constantly wet. Added to these 
circumstances the barracks for the first month had no stoves to 
drive out the cold and to dry our wet clothing and muddy shoes. 
The roofs of the buildings leaked and their dirt floors were always 
damp with the mud we tracked in from without. The barracks 
ofi'ered greater freedom of action than our pup-tents at the front, 
but we had expected far more comfort than they gave us, and were 
correspondingly disappointed. 

The remainder of the battery were quartered in billets on a street 
facing the Aube River, and in houses at the north end of the town. 
Living conditions in these places were much better than in the lower 
area, but wood was scarce and the men suffered from the damp chill 
of winter. An epidemic of colds set in and large numbers of men 
answered sick call. A room in one of the billets was converted into 
a hospital ward. At no previous time in the history of the battery 
had sick call been attended by so- many men so regularly. One 
morning when a particularly large detachment arrived at the in- 
firmary. Captain "Kirk" inquired why on earth the battery guidon 
was not brought along. Some of us undoubtedly sought medical 
treatment to shield ourselves from the horrors of drill, but there 
were comparatively few of these designing persons, and they rarely 
profited by their mendacity. 

Our activities in Dancevoir were manifold. We performed the 
usual calisthenics, sometimes before breakfast. We engaged in dis- 
mounted drill on a hill to the north of the village, and on one 

[140] 



occasion attempted infantry skirmishes. We hiked with and with- 
out the guns. We policed and repaired the village highways. We 
dug latrines. We devoted our attention to a new assignment of 
horses with their supply of American harness. We washed the 
howitzers which stood in the regimental gun park at the other end 
of the village. In reference to the last occupation Colonel Peak, 
Colonel Winn's successor, is claimed to have given orders for the 
men to "clean the cannon." Colonel Peak was apparently thinking 
in terms of the Civil War. Besides "cleaning the cannon" we cleaned 
ourselves by means of a tomato-can shower which our old friend 
Sergeant Bernstein renovated on the bank of the Aube. We stood 
inspections galore; we stood in the mud for mess; and we stood 
guard over every stick and stone and every well in Dancevoir. We 
discussed the chances of getting home, discussed the futility of 
drilling, and discussed the villainy of the officers. We checked up 
all battery records, and checked and rechecked all equipment. 

All these and many other activities we detested, but there were sev- 
eral ways in which the dull drag of our lives was alleviated. We 
played games on the drill field, wrote a host of letters, were enter- 
tained by the 306th Field Artillery players, and, above all, we made 
friends with the kindly French peasants of the town, who seemed to 
have the most extravagant affection for us so long as our pockets were 
full of francs. Sergeant Dumont adopted his "papa and mama" 
(papa had the best cognac in the world), paid ten francs for one egg, 
and almost went into mourning when mama fell sick. Corporal 
Ring fell in love with his darling Suzanne, and began to get absent- 
minded during inspections. Corporal Feldman made the ac- 
quaintance of a Parisienne butterfly who visited the family with 
whom he had attached himself. Sergeants Gray and Thurlow had 
a strange habit of suddenly disappearing toward a house near the 
stables. The officers retired to the inner recesses of the Officers' Club, 
to exchange their salaries over the poker table and totter home past 
the vigilant guards in the dead of morning. And the battery twins. 
Buddy Childs and Joe Pender, made conquest in the higher circles 
of Dancevoir society. 

Christmas came. Christmas boxes arrived to remind us how far 
we were from home. Christmas dinner was served as taunting evi- 
dence that we were fools to have expected that we would make 
merry over our own plum puddings. A number of men ate their 
evening meal in the houses of townspeople, drank French wine, 
talked boisterously, looked as merry as possible, and walked home 
to the chill of their billets, thinking that Christmas in the A.E.F. 

Chi: 




KL.T.r. '21 



Bajttei?^ ^ Q\xaa?ber^ Da^rvcevoip, Fr>accvCe, 



was very much like every other day. The only real touch of the 
kind of Christmas we would like to have had was a Christmas tree, 
cut from the property of Monsieur le Comte and erected in the 
"Y" barrack for the benefit of the children of Dancevoir. 

New Year's Day brought the realization that divisions of time 
meant very little in the army. Buddy Childs gave birth to that im- 
mortal sentiment that home was nowhere in sight, and that he 
guessed that he was "in the army from now on." The first of the 
year always brings a deluge of good resolutions, and our superiors 
evidently thought they had better do something righteous for us. 
A school was started which, in theory, must have been a remarkable 
success. Also an order was issued that there must be no more sal- 
vaging, an injunction directed against our habit of inadvertently 
picking up a fence rail or two to encourage the sparks in our stoves 
and fireplaces. 

The detachment of men who had attended a school for mechanics 
returned to the battery, and with them brought four tractors of the 
noisiest variety. When we didn't want the beasts, and didn't need 
them, they appeared, and forthwith had to be put to some immediate 

[1423 



use. There was talk abroad that we would haul the guns to a 
near-by range, but that plan, if there ever was such a plan, fell 
through, and the tractors remained in a state of offended neglect, 
crashing about town in a thunderous attempt to appear useful. 
Colonel Peak must have been in a frenzy to know what he should 
do with his new toys, and undoubtedly sat up nights in a cold sweat, 
trying to figure out some way of utilizing them. A brilliant thought 
struck him one day, with the result that Battery "A" went on a 
march, the rattle of the heavy howitzers drowned in the deafening 
clamor of their new gasoline horses. We drew into a field about 
two kilometers outside Dancevoir, and there indulged in the comedy 
of laying the pieces for fire, doubtless to have them all set for the 
"next war." We breathed a sigh of relief on January 25th, for the 
guns were drawn down to the aeroplane hangars at Latracey, to be 
turned over to the Ordnance Department. We gave them a final 
cleaning and lubricating, touched them up with paint, shed a tear 
or two at bidding farewell to our boisterous old friends, and left 
them to find their own destiny, we knew not where. The Ordnance 




ti.T.T.'ZI 






Department reported that no guns were turned in by any artillery 
brigade that surpassed ours in the excellence of their condition. 

One day a brigade review was held several thousand miles from 
Dancevoir, and off hiked the regiment to spend the afternoon being 
military before General McCloskey. Aside from a slight drizzle 
the occasion was uneventful, but every one seemed satisfied that 
they had looked intensely military, and had conducted themselves 
in an exemplary manner which did honor to themselves, their 
families, and the United States. The officers looked solemn and 
stern and highly important, and very much afraid of their reputa- 
tions. 

Shortly before we left Dancevoir, a regimental review, conducted 
for purposes of inspection, was held just south of the village. Ma- 
licious-looking officers from headquarters pestered our quaking lieu- 
tenants with a thousand embarrassing questions as to when we had 
last bathed, why this man was lacking the regulation layer of shoe 
dubbin, why that bow-legged man didn't know enough to stand with 
his feet at an angle of forty-five degrees, and what the men had had 
to eat on the last rainy Wednesday. Then they went down the bat- 
tery front viciously snatching away our rifles and violently thrusting 
them back at us, rapidly firing a line of questions at us the while. 
When Schnibbe was asked for the caliber of his rifle the reputation 
of Battery "A" had an irreparable set-back. His answer first came 
'Thirty, sir." "Thirty what?" snapped the inspector. "Thirty 
inches," came the meek reply, and the inspector glowered up and 
down the line to see who was laughing. The inspection was a very 
breathless affair and we were glad when it was over — especially the 
officers, for they went through all the stages of nervous prostration 
in the just cause of preserving our reputation from the black marks 
of these powerful inquisitors from headquarters. 

The period of demobilization was fast developing into a period of 
demoralization, in the military sense of the word. We could laugh 
and enjoy ourselves to a certain extent, but do what we might, we 
could not overcome the exasperation of leading a military life to no 
purpose. Whether the officers were responsible for the ill humor 
which possessed us is possibly not for the editors to pass judgment 
upon, but certain it is that most of our complaints were directed 
against officialdom. It seems that they were partially the cause and 
partially merely the convenient objects of our impatience. At the 
front we were satisfied to submerge ourselves in the seas of discipline 
in order to gain our purpose, no matter what our opinions might be 
concerning the essential nature of discipline. With our purpose at- 

C'44l 



tained we instinctively adopted a less lenient view toward the atti- 
tude which the officers appeared to think was vital to the main- 
tenance of their authority. An American wants to be led, not 
pushed, wants to be encouraged, not driven, wants to be treated like 
an American and not like the scum of the earth, and when the officers 
sat in front of their fires all day or appeared among us like graven 
images, we began to wonder whether they were worth respecting, dis- 
cipline or no discipline, army or no army. It seemed as if Lieutenant 
Shearer alone took any interest in our welfare. To him we re- 
sponded with our allegiance, and to him we extended our gratitude. 
Nor were the officers alone in their unpopularity, for the sergeants 
began to be looked upon as receiving privileges incompatible with 
their station. By a G. H. Q. order they were given a room to them- 
selves in one of the billets, and here, reinforced with champagne 
which they bought from a usurious Frenchman next door, they made 
a racket which on one occasion attracted the attention of the officer 
of the day, and on every occasion kept all men in the billet in a state 
of wakeful indignation. When a report circulated about that these 
tyrants were to have a separate mess, the battery threatened to blow 
up and "The Battery Book" almost lost its subscription fund. Our 
morale slipped about at a great rate while Dancevoir remained our 
home. The mess sergeant delivered an ultimatum to the battery 
commander. The seventh section, "the international section," had a 
grand set-to which ended with a few bloody noses, and one night in 
one of the barracks we barely missed having a murder laid to our 
account. It was just as well that we left for the Le Mans area when 
we did. 

We had been relieved of all equipment save what we carried on 
our backs. Our clothes and blankets had been put through delousing 
boilers; battery records were in tiptop condition; lacking equipment 
had been supplied; and promotions in the ranks had brought the 
personnel of the battery up to requirements in that respect. In 
short, we were all ready for whatever horrors the Le Mans area 
might have in store for us. We left Dancevoir on the bleak Friday 
afternoon of February 7th. The weather always cut a few capers 
when we moved anywhere. It was too cold to rain, so it snowed in- 
stead. To satisfy the colonel's idea of how the regiment ought to 
look on a march we carried our extra shoes on the outside of our 
packs. They got almost as wet as the hikers we wore, and when we 
crowded into French box-cars at Latracey, we lay down with wet 
feet, no change of shoes, and uniforms soggy with melted snow. The 
ensuing trip was a most cheerless one. The food was cold, the 

C'453 



weather was cold, and we were cold; and, to cap the climax, we de- 
trained on the gth at Noyen-sur-Sarthe on the windiest and coldest 
day we experienced during our year in France. 

In some respects our stay in Noyen was more satisfactory than 
our two months in Dancevoir, but in other respects it was far worse. 
Our billets, scattered all over the town, were at least comparatively 
dry, but they were poorly lighted, very dirty, somewhat crowded, 
and miserably heated. The weather was often cold, especially at 
night, and we continued to storm the infirmary morning and after- 
noon. A number of men were sent to the hospital. There was a 
rush to surreptitiously escape our uncomfortable quarters by renting 
rooms in French houses, with the result that many of the non-coms 
and others took up residence with the townspeople. Corporal Ste- 
vens was discovered by Lieutenant Bryan removing his belongings to 
his boarding-house and was asked, "Corporal, where are you going 
with that pack?" much to the confusion of the corporal. But his 
embarrassed explanation was not followed by, "My Gawd, Corporal, 
don't you know any better than to do that?" and the miscreant went 
on his way, rejoicing in the hope that the officers had taken a gen- 
erous drink of the milk of human kindness. Not so, for when it was 
found that the sergeants were not living in the quarters assigned 
them, orders were given that a sergeant must be in charge of every 
billet, despite the fact that instructions from G.H.Q. allowed ser- 
geants to live apart from their men. Orders of such a kind only in- 
creased our hatred of an over-imperious regime, and more than ever 
we gave vent to our emotions by voicing vitriolic execrations against 
the "reign of terror." 

At Noyen we were less troubled than formerly with the afflictions 
of drill. We took our turn at guard duty, went on short hikes, and 
were put through our paces in "squads right" in order that the best 
drilled men might be picked for a model platoon to engage in a di- 
visional drill competition. We had only a few horses, no tractors, 
and no guns to worry us, and the streets of Noyen needed little re- 
pairing, so altogether we were fortunately free from many of the 
duties which had attended our visit to Dancevoir. And, too, com- 
pared with the latter town, Noyen was a flourishing metropolis and 
offered not mere idleness, but active entertainment for our leisure 
hours. We patronized the restaurants and cafes, ate prodigious 
quantities of osiifs and other dishes of an unmilitary type, occa- 
sionally got delightfully tipsy (despite the army of M.P.'s whose 
duty it was to see that we were served nothing but "beer and light 
wines"), frequented the many stores of which the town boasted, and 

CMS] 




0/7 A//\-Zj Danczvoin 



there spent our francs on useless souvenirs, and even exhibited the 
grace of an army field shoe by frisking about the floor of a dance hall 
we discovered in rear of the Mairie. There was a large Y.M.C.A. 
building, and here we kept ourselves supplied with cigarettes and 
dangerous-looking cigars, though otherwise the "Y" profited us little. 

One Saturday morning the Place du Marche became a crowded 
center of commercial activity, for it was suddenly converted into a 
department store. Vendors from out of town flocked into the village 
and set up their stands in front of the Mairie, there to sell their va- 
rious wares. The whole of Noyen, including the 306th Field Artil- 
lery (which formed the greater part of the population), swarmed to 
the market and wandered from booth to booth. We found nothing 
that would have made suitable souvenirs, for even an American 
soldier draws the line at purchasing gingham dresses and corsets as 
mementoes of "sunny France." On another occasion the square 
served as a theater, for one evening a motion-picture machine, 
mounted on a truck, cast a few emotional reflections on a screen at- 
tached to the wall of one of the buildings which enclosed the square. 
It was a blessing to get in touch with civilization again, and while 
Noyen only whetted our appetites for home, yet it was a relief to be 
in a town which showed some faint signs of life. 

It was particularly pleasant to sit at a table and order a meal, for 
the battalion mess was anything but good at the time. One day 
General Glassford, who had replaced General McCloskey, rode up to 
our mess-hall on his motor-cycle and proceeded to do a little infor- 
mal inspecting. He asked one man what he thought of the mess and 
received the timid reply that it was fine. The general tested the 
food and thought differently, with the result that every authority in 
the battalion was given to understand that our coffee was nothing 
but "slops." The well-meaning individual who had commended the 
quality of the mess became the wretched subject of the following 
song: 

The Inspecting General came around, parlez-vous, 
The Inspecting General came around, parlez-vous; 

He asked us how we liked our grub 

And got his answer from a dub, 
Hinky, dinky, parlez-vous. 

Shortly before we left Noyen, Lieutenant Bryan and Lieutenant 
Grahn (then with the Supply Company) were promoted to the rank 
of captain. The former was assigned to the 305th Field Artillery 
and for a few days we had hopes that Captain Grahn would return 

:>47: 



to us as battery commander. No arrangement would have been met 
with more delight; but our hopes were short-lived, for Captain 
Bryan's transfer was cancelled at his own solicitation, and we con- 
tinued as usual to guard the battery's supply of jam. 

On February 23d, the battalion moved to Camp La Suze. We 
had visions of terrific labors ahead of us, for we were told that we 
were going to assist in the construction of a hospital camp, but La 
Suze proved to be a pleasant disappointment. We were not near 
enough to the village to find harbor with French families, but the 
two barracks in which we were quartered were, except for a mud 
puddle in one of them, very comfortable and far more desirable than 
the garrets and stables of Noyen. A Y.M.C.A. hut ofi'ered us desks 
to write letters, a small library, and a canteen. Scarcely a night 
passed without some entertainment in the "Y" barrack. Added to 
these comforts was the circumstance that we were several kilometers 
beyond the clutches of regimental authorities. There was consid- 
erable detail work and the model platoon started to be earnestly 
model, but we were afflicted with no regimental reviews, inspections, 
or other annoying formalities. Furthermore small detachments con- 
tinued to leave on furlough. From Dancevoir men went on leave to 
Aix-les-Bains and Chambery; from Noyen and La Suze they visited 
St. Malo and the Pyrenees. In every case these fortunate absentees 
came back with enthusiastic descriptions of Uncle Sam's winter re- 
sorts. 

During the first week in March, several men left the battery to 
attend French and British universities as members of the A.E.F. 
School Detachment. 

On March 21st, we hiked back to Noyen, to take up our abode 
once more in the barren hay-lofts and stable stalls we had previously 
occupied. Our second sojourn here was marked by a series of in- 
spections, ostensibly conducted to see that we kept ourselves in top- 
notch condition, but apparently for no other purpose than to give 
us something to do and something to swear at. On April 7th we 
subjected all the equipment we could beg, borrow, or steal to an 
embarkation inspection, held on the drill field of the Third Battalion. 
The inspectors were supposed to satisfy themselves that every man 
was fully equipped before leaving for the States, possibly to demon- 
strate to admiring Americans that he not only was, but always had 
been, fully equipped. We were more than ready to assist the inspec- 
tors in anything which might expedite our departure, and adopted 
various mendacious means of conveying the desired impression. If 
one of us were missing the required extra pair of shoes, he borrowed 

CMS] 



the requisite articles from the supply room, passed the inspection 
with honors and returned the shoes. Each man was supposed to 
have two identification tags. Many were lacking one or both. They 
were put toward the end of the inspection line, and when those who 
possessed both tags had been examined they surreptitiously slipped 
their tags down the line. Had the inspecting officers more carefully 
scrutinized Battery "A," they might have been astounded to see a 
stalwart son of Ireland with "Jacob" on his name tag, while a dark- 
haired Italian boldly advertised himself as bearing the name "Olaf." 

On April iith, the battery participated in a regimental dis- 
mounted drill competition. The model platoon proved itself far 
and away the best platoon in the regiment, and went through its 
prescribed manceuvers with such splendid precision that there was 
never a doubt in the minds of the spectators as to its superiority. 
When the battery as a whole took the field we lost by a close margin 
to Battery "E." We were the last battery to march into the contest. 
All the others advanced and executed squads left, coming into bat- 
tery front with slightly uneven dress. Captain Bryan saw his chance 
to get the jump on the other units and commanded an "on right into 
line." Thus, when we came into battery front, our dress was per- 
fect. There had been no ruling against such a manceuver and it 
seems as if we should have been allowed the advantage we gained by 
so extremely clever a move, but the general thought differently, and 
made us repeat our entrance. When we marched on the second time, 
the captain's commands were drowned by the band and we executed 
squads left very raggedly. It was undoubtedly the latter unfortu- 
nate occurrence that cost us the victory, for, once in the swing of the 
drill, we marched splendidly. The judges were in favor of declaring 
the contest a draw between "E" and "A," but a decision was re- 
quested, and the honors went to the former. 

For a few days prior to our departure from Noyen we indulged in 
a new form of torture known as "abandon billet drill." At a given 
signal we rolled packs and ran out of the billets as though we were 
leaving on the final day. The billets were then inspected to see that 
they were clean and free from those useless articles of equipment 
which it was always a temptation to leave behind. One such article 
which found its way into our packs was the bacon can. Bacon and 
condiment cans had been issued, withdrawn, and reissued times with- 
out number throughout our army life. They undoubtedly served to 
swell the pocketbooks of war profiteers, but for us they served no 
purpose except as ballast for our packs. At Noyen we received a 
final issue of bacon cans. We held them for purposes of inspection 

['493 



until the morning of our departure, when most of us rose up in 
wrath and hurled them away. We venture to state that if the Sarthe 
River ever overflows its banks it will be because the onrush of Amer- 
ican bacon cans, which that peaceful stream possesses, has some- 
where been checked into a mountainous dam. 

The battery finally received word that it would leave sleepy old 
Noyen on April 17th. On the i6th, Major Dick requested that we 
be assembled so that he might bid us farewell, for he was setting out 
that day for Le Mans. We always used to poke fun at the major's 
many speeches on discipline and saluting, and especially at his fa- 
mous Marcq oration, in which he so emphatically insisted that we 
had something that nobody could take away from us; but there were 
no smiles of amusement on our faces or in our hearts during his final 
speech. A Battery "A" man wrote to a friend the following brief de- 
scription of that scene: "The Major and about a dozen other officers 
were left behind in France. A new medical officer by the name of 

got into a mix-up with a girl at Noyen and was put up for 

court-martial, and all of these officers had to stick around as wit- 
nesses. The old Major got the battery together, and when he tried 
to make his farewell speech, his throat clogged. He tried to brace 
himself, got a few words out, and then broke down completely. Can 
you beat it? He hauled out amongst rousing cheers." 

We used to discuss the conduct of the officers freely and some- 
times not very impartially, but any man who murmured a protest 
against "Captain Dick" that night was promptly sat upon. Though 
the major was unquestionably the severest taskmaster ever given to 
us, though relentless iron discipline was his motto, yet he never 
spared himself, and in that he proved himself a leader as well as a 
driver. He always stood in our minds as the creator of Battery "A." 
Somehow his place seemed to be at the head of the battery column. 
To us he was always "Captain," not "Major." 



P50] 



Oh, Those Buglers! 

BY VERNON B. SMITH 

Oh buglers three, the battery 
Has waited, oh, so patiently, 
For you to learn to hit the key 
That you should hit, in buglery. 

Is it too much to ask of you 

To practise for an hour or two 

And learn to play at least a few 

Of those old calls we thought you knew? 

At dawn you cleave the quiet air 
With such a brazen, blatant blare 
That we arise and tear our hair, 
But, buglers, you don't seem to care. 

For mess you sound an awful tune, 

Quite like a hound that bays at the moon. 

Or when he trees a fleeing coon. 

We've cursed enough. We'll shoot you soon! 

"Sick call" sounds like a creaky hearse. 
It makes the sick a damned sight worse; 
It makes the healthy roundly curse, 
And pious persons say a verse. 

You murder "Taps" and "Reveille," 
Your "Recall" is an agony; 
Take warning, bungling buglers three, 
A dreadful death awaits for thee. 

Go learn those shining horns to play, 
Practise "Retreat," oh, buglers gay; 
Toot, toute de suite, the livelong day. 
Or hide, for fear your hides we'll flay. 




Den\obiliz5Jtioi\ 





, / I "T ^HE period of our history which we have called "Mark- 
ing Time" properly ends with our departure from 
Noyen, for then it was that we started to make rapid 
strides toward the Land of the Free and the Home of 
the Brave. Then, too, the final chapter should begin, 
for with Noyen left in the gloomy distance, we 
^^^ launched into the current of a hurricane of inspec- 
!!^^ tions, examinations, and red-tape which whirled us 
about on the unsteady winds of military life, and, with a final blast, 
scattered us to the four corners of America. 

At noon on April 17th, with bands appropriately ushering in the 
final phase with martial airs, the brigade began its journey to the 
coast. It remains one of the mysteries of the war why the battery 
did not entrain at Noyen. Instead of doing so we alone of the regi- 
ment hiked some five miles with full equipment to Camp La Suze, 
boarded a troop train there in the late afternoon, and promptly re- 
turned through Noyen by rail. Our thoughts, as we rumbled by the 
Noyen station, were inexpressible in any language, but oaths never 
seared the atmosphere more freely. Despite the bad start, the en- 
suing trip was fairly comfortable. Roomy American box-cars and 
hot food, coupled with the fact that the ride to Brest was a short 
one and was leading us definitely toward demobilization, gave no 
quarter for despondent spirits. 

Camp Pontanazen was a pleasant surprise. We were not prepared 
to see miles of barracks and tents surrounding the small enclosure 
we had visited a year before. We knew that the camp had been 
greatly enlarged, but we had fearful misgivings that its enlargement 
had not been for the best, and that we might well expect to be thrust 
into pigsties, — all this because we had heard of the congressman's 
wife who had crossed the Atlantic and cried inconsolably over the 
horrible conditions in the camp. We rejoice that the good woman 
did not venture toward the front, for, with one fleeting glimpse of 
the Battery "A" mess line at Abri St. Louis, she unquestionably 
would have dissolved into a streaming, compassionate tear. What- 
ever the previous conditions of the camp, they were all that we could 

[•52] 



have asked for when we arrived at Brest. We were quartered in 
squad-tents furnished with comfortable cots, ate well, and thor- 
oughly enjoyed ourselves. Mess was a marvel of efficiency. Thou- 
sands of men were served from a series of kitchens occupying one of 
the many kitchen barracks, were served well and with astonishing 
rapidity. 

We arrived in Brest on Good Friday. The following day ought to 
be known to posterity as "Good Saturday," for Battery "A" was 
deloused. We were marched to a large building the interior of which 
looked much like the waiting-room of a depot, for it was furnished 
with row upon row of long benches. Here we were assigned num- 
bered seats. Silence was commanded by large signs posted here and 
there, possibly in consideration of those who wished to offer up silent 
prayers of thankfulness at their happy deliverance from the ravages 
of their cooties. We took off our clothes, put them on the benches, 
and stood by, while a number of medical officers hurriedly examined 
us. Any man whose whelped chest indicated the presence of extra 
ferocious cooties was set apart and treated to a more powerful pur- 
gation than was inflicted upon those who merely suffered from the 
normal number of bites. Several minutes were consumed by this in- 
spection, since there were about a thousand men to be examined. 
When it was completed a sergeant whistled for attention, and after 
insisting that silence be maintained, gave instructions concerning the 
method of procedure during the bath something as follows: "Each 
man will take his underclothes, follow the line around the back of 
the hall, and as he passes the G. I. cans in the rear, he will throw 
his underwear and socks in one of them. He will then pass down the 
other side to the bath-house. After your bath return to this room, 
get dressed, and get out." We started the long journey, stalking 
abroad in all our nakedness, and finally approached the showers. At 
the entrance to the bath-room an attendant daubed each man, back 
and front, with a large calcimine brush which he dipped intermit- 
tently into a pail containing a compound of soft-soap and kerosene. 
As the attendant plastered Buddy Childs the latter cautioned him to 
"post no bills." No cootie could possibly escape that initial attack, 
but we proceeded under the showers to the tune of a sergeant's 
whistle, and made the most of a brief allowance of hot water by 
hurriedly enveloping ourselves in a froth of kerosene soap-suds. We 
were warned that we must get none of the soap in our hair. The 
admonition did not produce a favorable impression of the character 
of our cleansing material, and guessing that it was commonly used 
to remove varnish, we discreetly obeyed instructions, even at the 

C'53D 



risk of allowing some energetic cootie to escape its just desserts. 
"Two minutes to rinse off," came the command, and the hot water 
was suddenly followed by cold. As we left the shower-room a minia- 
ture towel was thrust at us, by means of which we endeavored with 
small success to dry ourselves. The towel was thoroughly saturated 
by the time we had rubbed the water from our hair, and the rest of 
the body was dried by pure friction as we frantically rubbed our- 
selves down. The next move was to collect socks and underwear 
before returning to our respective benches, and this we did as we 
passed several counters supplied with those articles. There was 
little time to get garments of the proper size, for a continuous stream 
of men was passing the supply tables. Joe Pender asked the soldier 
at the shirt counter where he might get his shirt accordion-pleated 
so as to make it fit. Once again at our benches, we hid in the re- 
cesses of our new underclothes and groped around to find our way 
into the rest of our uniform, all to the usual music, "Put your leg- 
gings on outside — hurry up and get out." The bath was really a 
memorable occasion. In more senses than one it was a great step in 
leaving French soil. 

In the evening we rolled packs and marched to a pavilion about a 
half-mile from the battery area. Here the external appearance of 
our packs received the concurrent approval of two captains. The 
rear rank was only a yard or two from a wall of the building, but 
that didn't seem to bother the "swivel-chair captain," for he com- 
manded "Open ranks, march," with seeming confidence that the rear 
rank would back the required four paces straight through the wall. 
When he found himself disappointed in this calculation, his indigna- 
tion was supreme, and he looked, and was, extremely nasty, and 
savagely intimated that we lacked intelligence. We were then com- 
manded to march forward, but the order was unaccompanied by "At 
trail," and when we brought our rifles to right shoulder in the ap- 
proved manner, the captain called out, "Keep your rifles down." We 
were not certain before, but then we became convinced that he was 
the man of our hopes, the man who would revise the American army 
drill regulations. 

On the morning of Easter Sunday we were ordered to embark. 
Truly it was our day of resurrection, and to commemorate the occa- 
sion we were introduced to a new form of drill, known as "ship 
drill." The battery was assembled, and as each man's name was 
called from the passenger list, he was taught how to answer his name 
with the proper inflection in his voice so that, when his name was 
called out on the dock, the hearing of the embarkation officer would 



not be unduly strained. After a hurried noon mess, the battery was 
formed again for a medical examination, chiefly for the purpose of 
discovering any cases of influenza. The doctors passed down the 
ranks placing a clinical thermometer in each man's mouth, and then, 
armed with note-books, recorded our respective temperatures. By 
the time they reached the end of the line the last men were, as some 
of us expressed it, "muscle bound in the jaws," from trying to gin- 
gerly hold the thermometer without biting it in two. Gauze masks 
were issued to be worn in case a "flu" epidemic should break out on 
board ship. 

The hike for the port of Brest began immediately after the exami- 
nation. And such a hike! A sort of grand finale to all the strenuous 
marches we had previously had. The day was hotter than the hot- 
test corridor of the Inferno, and yet, mirabile dictu, we were made 
to wear our overcoats. One fifteen-minute rest was granted through- 
out the two-hour journey. Between the heat, the rapidity of the 
pace, and the v/eight of our full equipment, it is a wonder that all 
of us arrived at the docks alive. Had we been going anywhere but 
to the ship that would carry us home, it is not unlikely that Battery 
"A" would have mutinied. If the doctors had delayed their exami- 
nation until after the hike, our temperatures would have sent the 
mercury shooting through the top of the thermometers. Andy Keane 
was purple with heat, and puffing and wheezing like an asthmatic 
steam-engine. As we waited limply under the pier sheds, the aggre- 
gate weight of the battery must have been at least a ton less than it 
was before we started off. Our friends of the Red Cross were present 
and did what they could to revive our normal temperatures with 
cups of cold water; they also hung about each man's neck a pair of 
socks, stuffed with candy, cigarettes, and playing-cards. 

Following a short delay we went aboard a lighter. About 3.30 p.m. 
we drew away from the shores of France, and ten minutes later were 
alongside the Agamemnon, which had arrived in the harbor that 
same morning, all coaled and provisioned for a speedy return trip to 
the States. As we passed up the gang-plank tickets were given us 
bearing the inscription "M N 2," indicating the battery's compart- 
ment on the ship. Many of us received small pieces of red ribbon, 
which we later found, much to our disgust, to be indicative of selec- 
tion for detail work. The crews of many transports were cut down 
to provide more space for soldiers, and hence we had to make up for 
the deficit of sailors by doing their work. One detail was assigned 
to scraping the inside facings of the unused boilers of the ship. This 
task was so particularly distasteful that a complaint was registered, 



and the detail relieved by order of General Glassford. Another de- 
tachment had to paint the walls of the engine-rooms and the engine- 
room shafts from the hold of the vessel to the top deck. This was 
better than working inside a rusty boiler, but the engine-rooms were 
extremely warm, and the work proved uncongenial. A third detail 
was assigned to sweeping and washing the decks. 

We might have been more satisfied at our conversion into "gobs" 
had we been allowed the comparatively delectable mess we saw the 
sailors consuming in large quantities. Our own food, and the con- 
ditions under which we ate it, made us long for the time when greasy 
mess-kits, weak coffee, and under-cooked beans would be things of 
the past. In contrast to the mess we enjoyed on the Leviathan we 
were badly off, and compared with the sumptuous feasts prepared 
for the officers our food was miserable. In order to enter the dark 
room which served as our mess-hall we had to pass by the officers' 
luxurious dining-saloon — at least it appeared luxurious to us, for the 
tables were covered with spotless linen and shining tableware, and 
the room furnished with most comfortable-looking chairs. A blaze 
of electric light disclosed all sorts of tempting food — a gentle though 
firm reminder of what we were not to get. Once past this sanctum 
of heavenly manna, where our superiors ate in the splendid seclusion 
of officialdom, we descended to the odors of our gloomy mess-hall, 
were served our share of "weenies" and coffee, and proceeded to the 
section of the room assigned to Battery "A." 

To add insult to injury, the officers, accompanied by the nurses 
aboard the Agamemnon, wandered along the galleries above the 
mess-hall to enjoy what was referred to by one of them as "watch- 
ing the animals eat." The kings of France used to eat one of their 
daily meals in public, but we did not feel, in view of the above re- 
mark, that the audience which gazed upon us was actuated by curi- 
osity more noble than that which leads people to stand in front of a 
cage full of pink-faced monkeys. To our delight the remark was 
overheard by General Glassford, who, with his accustomed sym- 
pathy for the enlisted men, rebuked the indiscreet officer, shut up the 
zoo, and allowed the animals to eat in peace. In vicious revenge for 
such treatment, the enlisted men on guard took particular pains to 
search out all cozy corners of the deck and put an abrupt end to 
twosing parties between officers and nurses by cruelly informing all 
amorous couples that they must move on. 

The Agamemnon, formerly named the Kaiser Wilhelm II, became 
known to the American soldier and sailor as "Rolling Billy." 
Though clear skies and a quiet sea attended us throughout the voy- 



age, we rocked and rolled during the clearest and quietest moments. 
Only one night, however, proved sufficiently rough to give any one 
that wan look of total emptiness which reveals an unhappy suscep- 
tibility to marine indigestion. On the whole, except for the night 
mentioned, the trip was uneventful. We had little of the crowded 
confinement we experienced on the Leviathan, for we were given the 
freedom of the ship and were allowed, even compelled by order, to 
keep above deck. Those of us who were not on detail lolled in the 
sunshine or sought such shaded spots as would offer relief from the 
blinding glare of the water, there to read magazines and talk to our 
hearts' content. The ship's daily paper aroused considerable inter- 
est, for it stated the number of miles the vessel had sailed during the 
preceding twenty-four hours. The various regimental players gave 
entertainments on several evenings, and there were a number of 
band concerts; and once the brigadier treated us to a dance. He 
gave several such dances before we left France, and this last one, 
like the others, excluded all officers. In France he used to put all the 
automobiles of the whole brigade at the disposal of his men to carry 
them to and from the ball. They were our taxi-cabs for the evening. 
He treated us no less royally aboard the Agamemnon, for he issued 
a memorandum which, among other matters, stated that the enlisted 
men and the ladies of the ship were to be his guests for the evening, 
and that no officers were invited to take part in the festivities or 
partake of any refreshments, except by his special permission. On 
the strength of that memorandum alone General Glassford made his 
place in our hearts secure, but all the more so because the dance was 
enjoyed to the full. 

Monday night, April 28th, brought the realization that on the 
morrow New York's gigantic pile of buildings would loom up on the 
horizon. It seemed incredible that we were almost home. Good 
spirits bubbled up in every one, conversation was high, and singing 
could be heard now and then in various parts of the ship. The most 
popular song was that of the 304th Field Artillery, adopted gradu- 
ally by every one on board. 

"Some day, Broadway, 
When all my troubles are through, 
I'm coming back, gun, baggage, and pack, 
To find repose in you. 

Your lights, so bright, a haven of refuge will be; 
Though far o'er the foam, I'm coming home. 
Some day, Broadway." 

i:'573 



Some shouted it, some laughed it, some monotoned it, some sang 
it on the key, and a great many sang it off the key. Still others did 
not join in at all, but leaned silently on the deck-rails, peering with 
unseeing eyes into the darkness. Home — it was too good to believe! 
France — a dream already! 

Reveille was sounded at 5 a.m. on the following morning, and after 
a hurried mess we rolled packs, policed our quarters, and went above 
to the second deck forward on the starboard side, there to watch 
anxiously for the shores of America to break the even horizon. At 
the entrance to Ambrose Channel we picked up a pilot. By this 
time the morning haze had almost cleared, and suddenly, as if by 
magic, the dim outline of the shores of Rockaway and Coney Island 
appeared before us. There was a cry of "Land, land," as fervent, we 
believe, as ever arose from the throat of John Cabot or Columbus. 
It must have been at just such a moment that Henry Van Dyke was 
inspired to write the poem — 

"Oh, it's home again, it's home again, 

America for me; 
I want a ship that's Westward bound. 

To cross the rolling sea. 
Back to the land of room enough, 

Beyond the ocean bars. 
Where the air is full of sunshine. 

And the flag is full of stars." 

Soon we were steaming slowly by Coney Island. Scores of boats 
came out to meet us. Ferry-boats, tugboats, launches, and lighters 
escorted us up the bay and past the Statue of Liberty. They were 
loaded to overflowing with friends and relatives who did nearly 
everything to demonstrate their welcome but jump overboard. Over 
the side of one boat hung a large banner inscribed with the name 
"Geiger." There were wild calls for Geiger to come and see his 
friends. Other names were similarly displayed, and each man so 
honored was summoned to a place of vantage in order that he might 
respond. The office of the Bon Ami Company, in which "Rip" Ring 
had formerly been employed, spelled his name across the office suite 
by placing huge pasters, each containing one letter of his name, in 
four of its windows. When "Rip" saw this enormous "R-I-N-G" 
confronting him, he must have felt as if his trip to France was worth 
while, after all. Before long we were opposite our pier in the North 
River, A few minutes after eleven we were at dock and debarkation 
began immediately. While we waited for our turn to leave the ship, 

C'583 



a Knights of Columbus boat, together with two or three tugs, came 
alongside and put over a barrage of oranges, newspapers, and choco- 
late. Most of it fell in the river, but that seemed to make no differ- 
ence whatever, for the bombardment continued at a terrific rate. 
Salvation Army workers came aboard and distributed telegram 
blanks on which to write messages to our families. 

When we left the Agamemnon we were stationed in the great 
warehouse beside the vessel. A high wire fence separated us from 
the eager crowd of friends and relatives awaiting a glimpse of their 
own. Except for the fence and the M.P.'s who guarded it, there 
would probably have been a stampede, and as it was there was con- 
siderable confusion. Fathers, mothers, wives, sisters, and brothers 
cried for joy when they caught sight of their "brave hero," and an- 
other barrage of food and newspapers was directed at us. Anything 
was ours for the asking. Whole pies, quart boxes of ice-cream, and 
pounds of candy were thrown over the fence by total strangers, who 
seemed as eager to serve a man they had never seen before as to wel- 
come their own sons. Some of the spectators tried to burst the wire 
with their bare hands in order to shake hands with us; soldiers were 
kissed through the openings in the wire; women begged to be allowed 
inside the inclosure; and one woman, recognizing her son, literally 
flew at the fence, and ended by falling back into the crowd in a dead 
faint. 

We were marched to the upper floor of another warehouse on 
a different pier, and ate a light mess prepared by the Red Cross. 
Soon after, the battery boarded the ferry-boat Babylon, at 3.30 p.m., 
and churned down the Hudson, around the tip of Manhattan, and 
so up the East River to Long Island City. The trip consumed about 
two hours, and it was still another hour before we hoisted our packs 
and left the boat. Here, as we marched to the trains awaiting us, 
we were greeted by another mob of friends and relatives. Neither 
policemen nor M.P.'s could control them, once they spotted any one 
they knew in the ranks. Lennon, Potts, and several others were 
fairly carried off their feet. A shriek would be heard as some fond 
mother caught sight of her son, a feeble remonstrance from a 
sympathetic policeman, and the mother would push into the march- 
ing column and clasp her arms about the neck of her embarrassed 
offspring. Sometimes the police would drag both from the ranks as 
the only solution for keeping the unit marching. These frantic 
demonstrations of affection seemed very unmilitary, and quite in- 
compatible with the dignity of returning conquerors, but surely 
our mothers had earned the right to "create scenes." Since we had 



departed from home shores they had lived in constant apprehension 
for our safety. Their vigil had been long and hard, we appreciated 
how hard, when their tearful joy showed itself in these happy re- 
unions. 

Once on board the electric trains, beyond the clutches of our 
friends, we sped rapidly to Camp Mills. Here the battery was 
quartered in squad-tents. We went to our bunks that night the 
happiest mortals in creation, because we were informed that im- 
mediately, possibly during the night, or most surely in the morning, 
we would go through another delousing bath, and be given two-day 
passes to visit our homes. 

It was at Camp Mills that the battery, if the term may be used, 
foundered on the rocks of military discipline. On board the 
Agamemnon a memorandum was issued in which Major-General 
Alexander appealed to all men in the division to refrain from going 
A. W. 0. L. when the ship docked. He pointed out that confusion 
and delay in demobilization would result from such breaches of 
discipline, and that the reputation of the division was at stake. 
After passing through a necessary routine at Camp Mills, we were 
to be allowed passes — a fair promise indeed. The "necessary routine" 
proved to be a bath, but we waited anxiously and in vain for our 
turn at the showers. The bathing plant was out of order, and we 
were held until the following afternoon, expecting every minute to 
be called out. Wednesday morning passed — no bath. Wednesday 
afternoon — no bath. Wednesday night we discovered that casuals 
scheduled to pass through the bath after us were already taking 
their turns, and, alas, our battery commander was nowhere in sight 
to protect our interests. He had gone on pass and had left Lieu- 
tenant Barker to look after his men. Our ire was up. We had been 
told that within twenty-four hours after our arrival at Camp Mills 
we might expect leaves of absence, and on Thursday forty-eight 
hours had passed, and we were still in camp, unwashed. If officers 
and others could leave camp to see their families, who should deny 
us a like privilege, who indeed? Were we not as anxious to get 
home? Why, then, should there be discrimination? So we argued, 
and so arguing, many men left the camp without leave. By late 
afternoon the majority of New York men had escaped. Lieutenant 
Shearer, after a heated protest with the authorities, finally arranged 
to have the remaining men get their baths and depart to their 
homes. 

Within forty-eight hours the absentees returned to the camp. 
Captain Bryan delivered a speech in which he charged the miscreants 



with being unfair to their comrades in that they had hampered 
demobilization and had cast a blot upon the battery's reputation. 
They were informed that they would be confined to quarters and 
punishment meted out to them in due course. The captain was 
highly indignant and we were even more indignant, and the result- 
ing friction gave promise of exciting the entire battery to a white 
heat. More men went off without leave. The final result was 
the demotion of twelve corporals, a number of first-class privates, 
and the detainment of all the absentees for delayed demobilization. 

On Monday, May 5th, the battery was assembled as a whole for 
the last time. At that final formation all men from States other 
than New York were segregated, to be sent immediately to camps 
near their homes, the Western contingent leaving under the com- 
mand of Lieutenant Barker. Nearly half the battery was to go, and 
those of us who remained appreciated more than ever that the 
Seventy-seventh Division was not fully entitled to be called "New 
York's Own," an appellation for which we competed with our rivals 
of the Twenty-seventh. Any honors which the battery or the di- 
vision earned may well be accredited to many others besides New 
Yorkers. The gun crews played an important role in the battery, and 
no crew was without its valuable complement of sturdy Westerners 
and New Englanders. The drivers took an equally important part, 
and the battery would have sorely missed the services of our friends 
of the farms. Boedeker and others could tell exactly what a horse was 
thinking about by looking at one of his hoofs, and probably would 
have found no difficulty in driving a howitzer along the top of a 
stone wall, had the occasion arisen. The large detachment left al- 
most immediately, and there was no time for more than the most 
hurried farewells. Now that we were all on the brink of returning 
to civilian life, our hearts' desire throughout the war, we hated to 
see the battery disband. Perhaps our greatest regret was that we 
could not remain intact until after the divisional parade on Fifth 
Avenue. To have marched together in a victory parade would have 
been a fitting consummation of our unity. 

Soon after the battery was thus rent apart, those of us who re- 
mained bid a happy farewell to Camp Mills and journeyed to New 
York to accept the greatest reward that may be given a soldier, the 
acclamations of his fellow-countrymen. We left behind us the men 
who had been confined to quarters. Despite the misdemeanors which 
they had committed in leaving camp without permission, their ac- 
tions during the war certainly gave them the right to a share of 
New York City's applauding welcome. Truly theirs was severe 



punishment — too heartless, so it seemed to us, to be just. Arriving 
in the city, we marched to the 9th Regiment Armory, at Sixth Ave- 
nue and Fourteenth Street, and staci<ed arms, after which we were 
dismissed to enjoy the freedom of the city until the following day. 

Promptly by 7.30 a.m. of May 6th, we were ready to join the pro- 
cession. We marched from the armory to the outskirts of Washington 
Square, there to wait for orders bidding us to take our allotted posi- 
tion in the ranks of the long column. Major-General Alexander, 
mounted on a beautiful black horse and looking for all the world 
as proud as a conquering Caesar, finally ordered the column forward, 
and, followed by his staff, clattered into Fifth Avenue at a walk, 
headed toward the expectant mobs of excited people who jammed the 
sidewalks for five miles. Company after company, battalion after 
battalion, appeared from the side streets around the square, pro- 
ceeded to the Fifth Avenue entrance, and took their places in the 
advancing column of khaki, each unit marching in mass formation. 
Every soldier carried his rifie with glittering bayonet fixed; every 
one wore an overseas cap; every one carried a light pack, uniformly 
rolled; every one's arm displayed service stripes; every one's helmet 
was fastened to the left shoulder; every one's shoes were shined; 
and the men of each unit clamped on the hard black pavement, 
left, right, left, right, in that exact unison which only the stirring 
notes of a military band can precisely regulate. In short, every one 
looked and marched as much alike as mortals can, and presented 
the fascinating appearance of rhythmic movement and military uni- 
formity which captivates a by-stander. 

About 10.30, Batteries "A" and "B," marching side by side, turned 
into the avenue, the battalion front extending from curb to curb. 
We tramped to 23d Street, and, before the cheering thousands who 
crowded Madison Square, passed under the Victory Arch which 
spanned the street beside the Altar of Liberty. As we marched on 
we could see the procession in front of us ascending Murray Hill, 
the straight khaki column, bristling with shining bayonets, swinging 
steadily forward between the black mass of onlookers who crammed 
the sidewalks from fiag-draped buildings to the curbs. In our 
ears the plaudits of our friends (every spectator was our friend 
that day), the electrifying blare of the regimental band, or the 
rat-tat-tat-tat of drums. Despite the cheers and the many contribu- 
tions of flowers, candy, and cigarettes which were hurled at us now 
and then, we marched on without turning our heads to right or left, 
except as we stole an occasional sidelong glance at the eager faces 
on either side of us, or watched our line to keep it properly dressed. 




H.T. Fi;sl^ 19 21 



PdsSySii^ Mi\dei= Yictogy 2\pcK M^j/- 6, 1919 



We were determined at all costs to look as rigidly military as pos- 
sible, and to march as we never had marched in our lives; but there 
was much to divert our attention. All the way up the avenue our 
path was embellished with countless decorations. Passing the re- 
viewing stand on the steps of the Public Library at 42d Street, we 
executed "eyes left," and caught a momentary glimpse of the curious 
and tawdry array of divisional emblems, medieval spears, and other 
martial implements which bedecked that stately edifice. At the 
library also was the Court of the Dead, where each division which 
paraded in New York placed a wreath in commemoration of its dead. 
From 42d to 59th Streets, the avenue was lined with tall evergreens 
planted in large white standards. On we tramped, and at 59th 
Street marched under the Arch of Jewels, after which we proceeded 
steadily onward in front of the continuous line of grandstands ex- 
tending the entire length of Central Park to iioth Street. Here 
General Alexander, who had turned off from the head of the column, 
sat proudly erect on his horse, reviewing his division for the last 
time, and saluting each unit as it passed, saluting rather gravely, 
we thought. Six blocks farther the march terminated. Scarcely a 
halt had we made in the whole five miles, the procession having 
passed any given point well within one hour. We took the subway 
back to the armory with a warm contented feeling of pride and a 
feeling of intense gratification for the magnificence of our welcome. 
We only regretted that the whole battery could not have shared 
our elation. At the armory we were dismissed with injunctions to 
report in the morning. 

In the rain of Wednesday morning we marched from Sixth Ave- 
nue across the city to the ferry, and thence to Long Island City, 
where we entrained for Camp Upton. We reached Upton in the 
early afternoon, to be quartered, not in our old barracks, as we 
devoutly wished, but in the former annex building of Battery "B." 
Thursday we investigated some of our old haunts, but did not 
wander far, since we expected that a formation might be called at 
any time. That night we were awakened close on to midnight, and 
until 4 A.M. placed ourselves for the last time in the hands of the 
"medicoes." Bare-skinned we stood in line and slowly journeyed 
past the waiting doctors, each physician confining his examination 
to a different portion of our anatomies. We had experienced many 
a medical inspection in our day, but none so ridiculously, though 
delightfully, perfunctory as this one. If a man was just this side 
of total blindness, he was passed with honors, and only a man with 
his ears amputated could have failed the aural test. "Ever been 

064:1 



shell-shocked — are you nervous?" was considered sufficient to dis- 
cover a neurasthenic, and if one's heart was beating, one's stomach 
somewhere near the abdomen, and one's nose in the place ordinarily 
expected of it, the approbation of the specialists was assured. 

Friday we enjoyed the entertainment of a morality lecture, and 
this was followed by solemn advice concerning our conduct upon 
returning to civil life. We were gravely cautioned to keep away 
from large cities, to find immediate employment, and, above all, 
to save our bonus money, — all this in the face of our unflinching 
determination, long since formed, of going directly to our great 
metropolitan hell and hurling an angry defiance at impending pro- 
hibition by "staging a roaring party" in celebration of our re- 
lease from the army. From the words of our counselor it ap- 
peared that it was vital to our future success and happiness that 
we hoard our bonus in the safe-keeping of a bank. Sixty dollars! 
It was a lump sum, too. And all for nothing — just a present! If 
we placed it at compound interest we would be able, so we were 
given to understand, to buy a small business in fifty years or so; 
or go into retirement, or do something equally lofty. Another 
speaker temptingly emphasized the profitable bargain of "retaining 
your government insurance." The last speaker then arose. We 
wondered what profound declarations he might have to offer, but 
before he had wasted his first breath there were derisive yells and 
catcalls throughout his audience. He wanted us to re-enlist. Re- 
enlist? Ha, ha, ha! The poor dizzy fish. Re-enlist, after we had 
spent two solid years trying to get out of the army. Re-enlist! 
Why, the man was crazy, a mere egg, and a dead one at that. We 
listened to him with amused, superior toleration, comfortably aware 
that here was something we did not have to do unless we wished 
to, but were surprised to find that perhaps, after all, the army might 
have a few advantages, even though they were smothered by the 
less attractive features so familiar to us. Still, we were not moved 
by his specious arguments of free food, free clothes, free lodging, 
free medical attention, and free education. He said that many of 
us were still undecided about our future occupations, and intimated 
that a year or so in the army would give us time to learn a trade 
and definitely make up our minds about our careers. Make up 
our minds! Ha, ha, ha! That was a good one, too. We suspected 
him of infamous motives in thus appealing to us. Perhaps he figured 
that another year in the army would so stultify our initiative and 
paralyze our intellects that we would become permanent fixtures in 
the U. S. Regulars. We remained scornfully adamant to all his en- 

1:1653 



treaties, for our thoughts were riveted on the morning of the next 
day, the day stamped on our discharge sheets. 

Friday night. May 9th, should have been the happiest night which 
the army could have offered us. On the loth we were to reunite 
with our families and leave to the past all drills, all details, all the 
many worries and privations which had incurred our dislike for 
months. To break to freedom from the bonds of discipline should 
have been enough in itself to make our hearts beat faster and our 
breaths come deeper, but, strangely enough, we were decidedly de- 
pressed. We had not been in a very good temper since the un- 
fortunate demotions at Camp Mills, and felt almost bitter at the 
turn which events had taken since our arrival in the States. The 
men who had been put under arrest for going A. W. O. L. thought 
the world very black indeed, and to a large extent the remainder of 
the battery shared their feelings. Those who were demoted had 
won their stripes by meritorious service, and these eleventh-hour 
reductions seemed monstrously unjust to them. After their arrest 
they were mad, mad clean through, and adopted a natural attitude 
of angry defiance which undoubtedly provoked the captain to un- 
necessarily stringent measures. But their demotion and the con- 
sequent blemish on their discharge sheets was the least of it to their 
way of thinking. It was bad enough to be reduced, but it was worse 
to be arrested and deprived of an opportunity of joining in the 
divisional parade; and, most galling of all, it was close to torture 
to be set down almost in one's back yard and kept there a week 
longer than was necessary, while every one else went joyfully home. 
No one can endorse the action of a man who goes A. W. O. L., and 
none of us did, but it seemed to us that the circumstances did not 
warrant such severe punishment. Discipline is rightly considered 
as a means to an end, but here it was apparently regarded as an 
end in itself. Had not the captain himself succumbed to the tempta- 
tion of going home, and had he stuck by his men throughout those 
last few days, we might have felt less rancor, but he condemned 
others for doing what he himself had done under cover of his rank, 
and that was one too many for us. 

In other ways, too, our last night did not prove a happy one. 
Waiting for discharge had gotten on our nerves. We were practically 
demobilized, yet we were not. Half the battery had left and the rest 
of it was as good as disbanded, yet it wasn't disbanded. Everything 
was over but the shouting, and still we had to wait, and already had 
waited an eternity, so it seemed to us, to get home. Furthermore, 
though we gloried in the idea of leaving the army for ever and ever, 

1:1663 



and made no pretense to disguise our feelings in that respect, yet 
we could not but feel some regret that Battery "A" was to vanish 
for all time. We had lived together, fought together, hiked together, 
slept together, cursed and laughed together, shared comforts and 
discomforts together, for months, and it was a callous soul that 
did not feel the significance of that last night. We inevitably looked 
back on our former days in Camp Upton when the battery first 
found its unity, and, looking back, wished that all our old friends 
might have been with us, the scores of enlisted men who had been 
transferred before we left for France, and the many officers. Major 
Dick, Captains Ketcham, Grahn, and Pitman, Lieutenants Swen- 
son, Armstrong, Vollmer, Burke, and others, who had drilled the 
battery in its innocent youth. And above all, who was there who 
did not feel the tragic absence of Lieutenant Reid, Lieutenant Tritt, 
Eck, and Mongeon. 

All men who had gone A. W. O. L. were assigned to the depot 
brigade. After evening mess. Lieutenant Shearer requested that 
they assemble in the barrack-room in order that he might bid them 
farewell. They, and more too, were there to receive him, and when 
he entered the room and stepped up on one of the bunks to address 
us, we cheered him to the echo. He finally managed to quiet us, 
and made a few remarks which brought forth a second ovation, after 
which he shook hands with every one present. A man who had risen 
from the ranks. Lieutenant Shearer never forgot the ranks, and at 
all times displayed an understanding of our point of view which won 
him our hearts and our sincere gratitude. Even in the smaller 
things he maintained the same spirit. Well can we remember how 
he used sometimes to shoulder the rifle of a weary private, worn 
out from a night of marching, or even take the pack of a tired 
straggler and hoist it on his own back. Such acts as these, and 
there were many of them, enabled us to applaud him on that last 
night with a sincerity born of deep respect and true friendship. 

When Lieutenant Shearer left, the men who were to be detained 
assembled in front of the barrack to be marched off to the depot 
brigade. Captain Bryan spoke a few words to them, detailing the 
pleasure he had found in fighting with the battery since he had 
taken command at the Vesle. He told them he would be 
glad to help them in any way in his power when we were 
all demobilized, and bidding them good-by, advanced to shake 
hands with each man individually. Only a few accepted his 
hand. Never was there a more deplorable sight in our en- 
tire history than the one presented by those men as they 



marched away. It left us with painful regret at the chain of 
circumstances which thus blighted our last days in the army. It 
seemed as if the organization had absolutely lost the esprit de 
corps it had had in its earlier days. When we thought of the 
battery as it once was, swinging sturdily along on an afternoon 
hike in Upton, drilling on the gun park at Camp de Souge, hik- 
ing through the dark on its laborious way to the Argonne, man- 
ning the howitzers on the Vesle, at Le Rond Champ, and La 
Besogne, then we could not but feel that Battery "A" had greatly 
changed. It was depressing to consider that Battery "A" could ever 
lose its grip on itself, yet we thought ourselves forced to that con- 
clusion. We now can see how naturally it all came about, for, as 
Colonel Winn had warned us in Marcq, a military unit is sure to 
find difficulty in keeping up its morale in the face of months of 
idleness. We had waited six months for our discharge, and we 
would not have been human if we had not lost some of the spirit 
which fired us in days gone by. We were immensely proud of our 
battery, always had been and always would be, yet the last few 
months, and especially the last few days, had tried our souls. We 
had written our brief sentence in the pages of the world's history, 
and it seemed as if we were to punctuate it with a blot instead of 
a period. 

Saturday morning. May loth, 1919, sixty Battery "A" men, all 
that remained of two hundred and twenty-six of us, marched to the 
quartermaster's office, received our pay, bonus, and transportation 
ticket, and marched to the Camp Upton terminal. As we passed 
through the gate we were given our discharge sheets and boarded 
the waiting train that was to carry us back to civil life. 



1:1683 




Retpospcct 




HE World War was like a gigantic thunder-storm. 
It growled and threatened in the distance, and the 
2^ world sat basking in the delightful sun of prosperity, 
placidly insisting that the wind would change. It 
rumbled swiftly nearer, and burst over us with a ter- 
rific clap that sent us dashing madly for cover. 
Violently it raged, furiously it roared, like a tornado 
it blew, and then it rolled away. Now the skies are 
almost clear and the sun is out, the air is fresh and cool and good 
to breathe. We can scarcely believe that the quiet scene before 
us, so pleasant and calm, was but a short time ago filled with din 
and the utmost confusion. As if in the refreshing aftermath of a 
thunder-storm, we have forgotten the realism of the tempest. We 
look back upon the war almost as a mere dream, an interesting 
dream, to be sure, but one which can have no place in the business of 
the present. 

It seems incredible that we should have changed our attitude so 
radically, yet so calmly and unthinkingly. When we occasionally 
recall our experiences in the army, we perhaps wonder how we ever 
lived through some of them, yet we do not feel the ugliness of war 
which we felt at the time. Some circumstances of our military life 
will never lose their realism, but aside from these few we have an 
absurd tendency to chuckle at the deplorable existence we once 
led. Consider the Brest-Bordeaux ride. How we hated the army 
during that trip! What crowded, filthy confinement was ours! The 
end of the world seemed in sight. Yet now we pass it off with a 
broad smile, and remember with positive delight that we ate cold 
canned beans with our dirty fingers, and that we tried to sleep 
sitting bolt upright on a hard bench while the rattling "side-door 
Pullman" lurched and banged and pounded along on its flat wheels. 
If we can smile at our former misfortunes, then we can scream 
in a paroxysm of mirth at the countless incidents which amused us 
at the time. "Puss-in-boots" instructing us in bayonet drill, Prendie 
praying in the sands of Souge, Buddy Childs injecting the "dix- 
franc needle," and a thousand and one incidents which have found 



no space in these pages, — recollect these, and the war will very nearly 
appear as a huge joke. 

As we read through the pages of the Battery Book, we may per- 
haps remember the feelings we entertained toward the army while 
we were in it. It is those feelings that the book purports to preserve 
for our future consideration. It is those feelings, too, and the cir- 
cumstances which stimulated them, that call to our minds the war 
as we knew it, monotonous, exciting, serious, amusing, exhausting, 
exhilarating, pleasant, and unpleasant. Though we see the war in 
these varied aspects, yet one or two outstanding facts force them- 
selves on us. One is that our experiences,, however dreadful they 
may have appeared at the time, and however ridiculous some of 
them may seem to us now, are experiences which we have a right 
to look back upon with serious feelings of satisfaction and pride. 
The country called us to service, and we served and served well 
the cause which summoned us. The preceding pages reflect in a 
measure what we might call the narrow-mindedness of our thoughts 
during the war. We complained of this, that, and the other thing 
while the fight was in progress, and often failed to recognize the 
greater issues of the war through the veil of our petty emotions. It 
matters little now that we hated the discomforts, the privations, 
the autocratic feudalism of military life. What really counts is 
the fact that we were all true to our country, that we fought for a 
righteous cause, and that we won. 

Another fact stands clear in our minds: the men of Battery 
"A" have a bond of common interest and sympathetic friendship 
which can never be shaken. Battery "A" will never stand another 
formation, and at one time we devoutly wished that it never would; 
but now there are probably few of us who would not like to line up 
once more in response to a bugle and hear the old cry, "Battery — 
attention. Squads right. March." One member of the battery re- 
cently expressed the desire that we might all be summoned to a camp 
for two weeks every year. The wish seems curious in view of our 
former sentiments, but it shows that while the corporeal being of 
the battery is no more, yet somehow its ghost, or spirit, or whatever 
you may have a mind to call it, is alive. Battery dinners have 
been held and will be held now and then, in evidence of this, and 
the many letters which the editors have received from subscribers to 
this book leave no doubt in our minds that the battery still pre- 
serves its unity of spirit. 

Battery "A," in short, will never really be demobilized. 

Ciyo] 




xK? Officers p9ial^View 




Editor's Note: The battery history, having been written entirely by 
enlisted men, necessarily lacks the point of view of the officers. With this 
in mind, the editors have called upon the kindness of Major Dick for a 
short account to throw light on the thoughts and feelings of a Battery "A" 
officer, in the following article, which we are confident will be of interest 
to all, the Major gives us a glimpse of the problems which confronted an 
officer, and presents in what may be a new light to many of us the relation- 
ship between an officer and his men. 




N a sense there should be little difference between 
the points of view of the officers and of those in the 
rank and file, for we were all cogs in the same military 
, machine, with a common purpose, that of defeating 
the Germans and getting back home again. But, as a 
matter of fact, the bonds of discipline in an army are 

L I such that an understanding of the various points of 

t — « '^ — ' — J view of all ranks is not always obvious. When the 

captain wields his authority over his men, and later gets a dressing- 
down by his major or colonel, the points of view may be the same, 
but they feel different. Over there we all saw generals, high and 
low, at times have difficulties in their points of view also. 

It might be a good thing if a scheme could be worked out so that 
the higher ranks could know what some other "points of view" were. 
Some ears would have burned. Sometimes this did happen. I re- 
member a lieutenant telling a captain: "I will dig that drain any 
way you say, but I can't make water run uphill." 

However, a system of telling everybody how his behavior looked 
to those below would be hard to reconcile with a well disciplined or- 
ganization. It is a military axiom that a poor plan, promptly and 
efficiently carried out, is superior to the best plan, indifferently 
executed. So it was necessary to take our orders as they came, and 
do our best to execute them. 

Recently a waggoner told me that at an inspection he had had a 
bee in his ear. "It was an inspection at Upton," he said; "I moved, 
and you said, 'Sergeant, take his name.' Later, in the orderly room, 

[•71] 



I explained that a bee had been in my ear. You were very unjust. 
You said, 'You will have worse things than that in your ear when 
you get to the front. Two days' fatigue.' Really, a bee was in my 
ear." 

This is only a small incident to illustrate the fact that the higher 
ranks in the army, in working for efTiciency, necessarily at times 
do injustices. But two days' fatigue didn't make this man any less 
zealous and efficient in his work, even if it did rankle at the time; 
and it must be remembered that if this bee had succeeded in his 
effort, he might have had his whole family of bees with him on 
similar occasions. Whereas, bees or no bees, when your training was 
completed and we went into action, your discipline rose above worse 
things than bees. 

As a matter of fact, war is just about what Sherman said, and this 
doesn't mean only active service at the front. To give up our in- 
dependence and take arbitrary orders, is more than disagreeable. 
It sometimes becomes almost unbearable. 

The men who went through the grueling training at Souge must 
well remember those Saturday inspections in the blinding sun and 
heat of the parade-ground. My eyes burn even now when 1 think 
of it. Besides, it was on Saturday afternoons. I had grave fears 
at the time that this rigorous discipline, and overtime, might cause 
such feelings as to defeat the end I was striving for. But whatever 
your feelings, the willing cooperation and splendid results you ob- 
tained were an inspiring example of what the spirit of the best blood 
in the country can produce. 

I remember that after one of these inspections a group of men went 
to Bordeaux. They were due back for reveille the next morning. 
All were present. 1 later found out that the truck transportation 
had failed, and they had walked all the way back. With such a 
good excuse for remaining in the city, it would have been so simple 
to take it easy. The fact that they didn't, but tramped all night, and 
never mentioned it either, was inspiring to all of us who led you. 
Wars are not won by good excuses, and while we were not at the 
front at the time, it was the spirit fostered by acts like this that gave 
us our efficiency in battle and our victory. 

The best spirit between all ranks in an army would be possible 
if all had confidence in the justice and fair dealing of those above 
them. Unfortunately, this confidence was not universal. Some 
really efllcient ofljcers were bitterly hated by their men. They were 
considered cruel, selfish, and unjust. I am sorry to say that these 
feelings were sometimes justified, at least in part. But on the 



other hand, this opinion was frequently based on a failure to ap- 
preciate the officers' own difficulties. 

An example of this was the period of our training at Upton. We 
were all of us thrown pell-mell into an unfinished camp. Compara- 
tively speaking, your officers were as green as you, and in handling a 
problem of this size and nature, the Regular Army was as green as 
any of us. 

On one of the early days at Upton, a man came into my orderly 
room and told me what he thought of the mess. He was eloquent in 
his description, and 1 am sorry to say he was right, although Burke, 
and later Ketcham and 1, were trying to do our best. The men may 
have thought this was due to indifference or neglect, but it wasn't. 
Of my whole experience of the war, I think those early days at 
Upton were the most difficult. We were positively bombarded with 
inspections, and orders and more orders: artillery drill, wooden 
horses, schedules, shoe dubbin, muster rolls, stump pulling, black- 
board horseshoeing, fire department, medical inspections, pay-rolls, 
morning reports, transfers, and what-not. We were like bulls in 
a bull-fight. Just as soon as we started in one direction, a jab 
in the back, and we met something new and different. We were 
supposed to be always serene and confident, but I remember one 
captain coming to me one day and saying that he was at the end 
of his rope, that he simply had to go to his colonel and quit. 

An officer commanding troops should have the welfare and com- 
fort of his men his first thought, but with the best intentions in the 
world, the difficulties of those early days were sometimes hard to 
overcome. 

These difficulties were not due to the failure of any particular 
class. The whole army was green. Fort Sill was supposed to be a 
final finishing school. As a matter of fact, the turmoil there was 
as bad as elsewhere. The officers were driven and examined and 
"canned" about a mass of details, of which only about five per cent, 
proved really useful. At Camp de Souge, in fact, some officers were 
convinced that all of Fort Sill was a dead loss. 

On the day my class left Fort Sill, we were in line signing out 
when the K. O. rode by on a horse. After the completion of our 
ordeal we felt pretty skittish, and when he halted to speak to us, 
we were expecting a few words of encouragement. What did he do 
but give us the worst dressing-down for our levity that I have 
ever heard. It was so uncalled for that it made us boil. I don't 
doubt you have all, at one time or another, boiled too, although I 
hope not with the feeling I had at that time for that man. 

C'73] 



I mention this, not as a criticism of the regular service, but to 
show that all of us from top to bottom were in the same boat, and 
that we all had the same point of view, but didn't know it. 

As our training progressed, we all learned. The army was being 
whipped into shape. All of us became more seasoned. The men 
gave results with less and less friction, and your officers likewise 
gained experience. An infantry m.ajor told me that at the front 
he had a lieutenant on the single job of satisfying unnecessary or- 
ders from above. This lieutenant would draw colored maps of al- 
ternate gas positions, switch lines, etc., while the major worked on 
his real problems, undisturbed. The staffs in the rear had no experi- 
ence at the front, and when they were bothersome in their ideas the 
lieutenant would save his major from annoyance, and send them 
whatever they asked for. This was more extreme than anything in 
my experience, and I hope in my battery, but it illustrates my point. 

However, as we approached the end of our training at Camp de 
Souge, real pressure to obtain discipline and efficiency was increas- 
ing all the time. I knew what I wanted, and I was determined to 
get it in spite of everything. A sergeant has since told me 1 was a 
pest with inspections. A waggoner has told me that 1 had no tact; 
and a lieutenant told me, diplomatically, at the time, that in my 
treatment of my officers I was autocratic, unsympathetic, and posi- 
tively stupid. Any man with sensitiveness in his make-up couldn't 
fail to perceive undercurrents like these, and it was not an easy mat- 
ter to drive ahead on the same lines with no relaxation. War, and 
training for war, requires abnormal efforts, and it isn't possible to 
be keyed up to a high pitch along lines of easy resistance. The 
determination and the ability to get results in spite of all difficul- 
ties cannot be obtained by a jolly, easy-going picnic. 

I remember on our prolonged night marches how 1 would snarl 
and snap at drivers I saw asleep in their saddles, hunched over on 
their horses' necks. Those drivers, after several nights of travel, were 
in a state of exhaustion, when careful driving was almost beyond the 
strength of human beings. But we had to preserve our horses or our 
whole effectiveness was gone. Trained for motors, we received our 
horses so short a time before going to the front that our lack of 
experience was deplorable. But the war couldn't wait. The drivers 
who may have thought their officers unfeeling in this were wrong. 
It wasn't a question of feeling. The horses had to be saved in spite 
of all feelings. 

Another example was the march discipline of the men on foot. 




n.T.T. '21 



TKe Officep'5 Poiivb of View, 



The column had to be kept closed up. In movements back of the 
line, all roads were congested beyond capacity. Vital troop move- 
ments were limited by road space. To lengthen the column was 
like throwing a bolt into revolving gears — it stopped the whole 
machine. I know of an officer criticized by his men because he told 
a sergeant to run the men down who couldn't keep up. An order 
like this shouldn't be taken absolutely literally, and in our army 
I am thankful it wasn't; but as a means of driving men to the 
limit of their endurance in a vital need, it may have been most 
effective. Jaded men require a strong stimulant, and on those nights 
we were thoroughly jaded. I don't want to be understood as trying 
to justify brutality, but to show that apparent brutality may have 
arisen from the very brutality of the situation that confronted us. 

Situations like this are easily understood, at least now, when the 
strain is over. But I have met men who feel that many officers 
were selfish and even cruel in their disregard of the feelings and 
comforts of their men. There can be no justification for this, and 
unfortunately, in some cases, it was true. It was impossible to make 
an army in such a hurry and not have some men in positions for 
which they were in no way fitted. When any of us suffered from this 
cause we could only take it as part of the war, and make the best 
of it; and it must be remembered that conditions like these were 
by no means confined to relations between commissioned and enlisted 
personnel, nor were they limited to lieutenants, captains, and majors. 

I am thankful to say, however, that, in my experience, in many 
cases when officers were regarded as unfeeling and inconsiderate, these 
feelings were by no means justified. Your leaders were taking men 
into battle against troops of several years' experience in battle and 
many years' previous training. Only by superhuman efforts could 
we win out in a contest like this. The whole mind, heart, and soul 
of your leaders were absorbed in this problem. Our training was 
so limited that the mass of difllculties to be solved and overcome at 
the front monopolized a man's whole mind. It wasn't just giving 
orders. It was shov/ing how they were to be carried out, and even 
supervising their actual execution. In the artillery also, the technical 
problems were complex — a whole field in themselves. In circum- 
stances such as these, the softer side of a man's nature was snowed 
under. In seeing that innumerable measures were carried out cor- 
rectly, the main thing was to get results. This was all-important, 
and in this direct going after results many other things suffered. 

A few ofl^icers may be so gifted that their minds may always, in all 

ri763 



circumstances, give due consideration to the feelings and comfort 
of those below them, but this world supplies few such men. 

From General Pershing down, efficiency in battle was the test. 
Nothing could atone for lack of this. A man who failed because 
he gave too much of his thoughts to consideration for the feelings 
of those under him, or who weighed his popularity as worth anything 
as against discipline and efficiency, was a military failure. He was 
worse than that — he was untrue to his trust. 

I have heard that the French general, Gouraud, who defeated the 
Germans in the Champagne in the July, 1918, attack, was one who 
not only was a military leader of the highest order, but was adored 
by all under him. He was able to obtain discipline and efficiency 
with, and possibly through, the love all ranks held for him. Such 
a condition is ideal, but unfortunately very few men can accomplish 
their purpose in such an ideal way. 

As contrasted with him, an American general, who was probably 
the most successful leader of combat troops in our army, was hated 
by all under him in a way I have never seen equaled. His division 
was one of the very best. It fought to exhaustion, and retained its 
morale under repeated losses of the heaviest sort. The cooperation 
of all arms was only equaled by the inflexible determination always 
to get results, to capture its objective. If all of our divisions had 
been similarly led, we would have gone through to Sedan in the Sep- 
tember attack, instead of giving the Germans a chance to get their 
breath and hold us off until November. And yet a man more bit- 
terly hated by everybody I have never heard of. He was a slave- 
driver. He accepted no excuses. A single mistake, and "off goes 
your head." In his determination to get results he was relentless. 
He never relaxed. It was drive, drive, drive, without a single human 
touch. I heard of artillery officers driven to reckless exposure to 
fire and senseless casualties by his bitter criticism, but the net re- 
sult was an invincible division. I knew some of his staff-officers, 
and I know my hatred would have equaled theirs, but the results 
are what count; and if all our generals had been like him, many 
lives would have been saved in the long run. Whether this general 
was really brutal I don't know. He may have been a victim, as all 
of us were more or less, of the very intensity of his purpose, but 
what I want to emphasize is, that in a war every day means suffer- 
ing and death. Results are what count, and when results are com- 
bined with brutality, as contrasted with the ideal affection of Gou- 
raud, it is unfortunate, but the fact remains that the deciding test 
is results. 



Few of us obtained this ideal, but most of us avoided the opposite 
extreme of brutality. The point to remember is, that a superficial 
view of incidents here and there, under the conditions we were up 
against, does not always give a true side of the case. And as a 
matter of fact, the real character of our men was seldom one ex- 
treme or the other, but rather a mixture. If our unpopular leaders 
had come from Mars, we might have put them in a common pot and 
called them by our favorite epithet, but as we were all out of the 
same pot, merely shuffled around for the purpose of the war, the 
more charitable we can be, the better for all of us and for our country. 

This contribution to the battery history purposely avoids dupli- 
cating the rest of the book. It is an attempt to give a point of view 
that was difficult to show adequately while we were in the game. 
Even after the armistice, the very momentum of our progress made 
a return to the point of view previous to our condition of servitude 
very slow. There was relaxation, of course, but not what there 
might have been, if it had not been so hard to change direction at 
top speed. Orders were still coming in from above, and faster than 
ever before. As a matter of fact, this may have been all for the 
best, for it gave us something to occupy our minds and grumble 
about — rolling packs, aligning mess-kits, etc. However, all this de- 
layed the return of the normal point of view that I am trying to give 
in this article. 

One thing our experience demonstrated that is to the everlasting 
credit of all of us Americans, and that is the willing and loyal way 
in which all ranks submitted to discipline and slavery — it was really 
slavery. We gave up our freedom to save the freedom and democracy 
that meant so much to all of us. And, through justice and injustice, 
we conquered our feelings and played the game. In reading the 
books of Von Tirpitz and Ludendorff, I found that they laid their 
defeat to the refusal of the German people to endure discipline and 
follow their leaders — leaders far more skilled than ours — whom 
they had accepted for the many years preparatory to the conflict. 
Of course our test was shorter, but I am convinced that the real 
basis of our superiority in this respect was the knowledge that 
our bondage was to insure our return to our former freedom, 
whereas the German military officer class never contemplated the 
surrender of their long-established power. 

There is one point of view in our experience that has only one 
side to it, and that is the feeling of your leaders in regard to your 
behavior at the front. We were inspired by it. Green troops, you 
went into action with calmness and quiet self-reliance. I will never 

[•78] 



forget moving the battalion guns into our first positions on the 
Vesle. Crashes on all sides. "Coming in" and "going out," it was 
all the same. Everybody doing his job as calmly and unruffled as 
on a drill. It was this calmness, this doing of all jobs from the 
hardest to the easiest, from the most dangerous to the safest, with 
exactly the same willing behavior, that was so inspiring. Never 
any heroics, never any excuses. I would like to mention by name 
some of the men who thus accomplished the hardest and most dan- 
gerous tasks, but I cannot do so with fairness to all members of 
the battery. In the old days a knight could win renown by chal- 
lenging the leader of the enemy to single combat. With us he went 
out alone to mend a wire, to man an O. P., or to fill a water 
cart. You were there to do your individual job, and where all did 
their jobs, whatever they were, with the same spirit, any comment 
of mine would necessarily leave out many deeds which did not come 
to my attention. It was for this reason that I took your behavior 
for granted, and made no mention of it individually at the time. 

You have been through a test in manhood and patriotism which 
is not allotted to every man. To have proved yourselves able to 
meet that test is, in itself, a reward beyond price. I am sure that 
the qualities which you displayed in our service together will insure 
you all the utmost success and happiness. 



i:'79: 



SorY5^6 



THE DEAD-HORSE BRIGADE 

We are the men of the Dead-Horse Brigade, 

We are the men of the Dead-Horse Brigade, 

Glory Halleluiah, Glory Halleluiah, 

We are the men of the Dead-Horse Brigade. 

For we have to dig a grave each day. 

And we never get a cent more pay, 

Come let us hasten, let us not delay. 

For we've got to dig another in the morning. 

We are the men of the Dead-Horse Brigade, 

We are the men of the Dead-Horse Brigade, 

Glory Halleluiah, Glory Halleluiah, 

We are the men of the Dead-Horse Brigade. 

OH! HOW I HATE TO GET UP IN THE MORNING 

Oh ! how I hate to get up in the morning. 
Oh! how I'd love to remain in bed; 
For the hardest blow of all is to hear the bugler call, 
"You've got to get up, you've got to get up, 
you've got to get up this morning." 
Some day I'm going to murder the bugler. 
Some day they're going to find him dead; 
I'll amputate his reveille, and step upon it heavily, 
And spend the rest of my life in bed. 

ARMY BLUES 

I've got the Army Blues, waiting for some home-town news. 

Oh, gee, I'm sad. I've got an aching heart. 

Goodness, when we had to part, I felt so bad — 

My old daddy and mammy, too. 

My own sweetie was feeling blue; 

I've got the Army Blues, rifle on my shoulder. 

The Army Blues — boys are getting bolder — 

Right about, face about, forw^ard march, 

I've got the Army Blues, I've got the Blues. 



INDIANA 

Back home again in Indiana, 

And it seems that I can see, 
The gleaming candle-light still shining bright, 

Through the sycamores for me; 
The new-mown hay sends all its fragrance, 

From the fields I used to roam ; 
When I dream about the moonlight on the Wabash 

Then I long for my Indiana home. 

THEY WERE ALL OUT OF STEP BUT JIM 

Did you see my little Jimmy marching with the soldiers up the 

avenue? 
There was Jimmy just as stiff as starch, like his daddy on the 17th 

of March. 
Did you notice all the lovely ladies casting their eyes on him? 
Away he went, to live in a tent, over in France with his regiment. 
Were you there, and tell me, did you notice? 
They were all out of step but Jim. 

KEEP THE HOME FIRES BURNING 

Keep the home fires burning, 
While your hearts are yearning; 
Though your lads are far away. 
They dream of home ; 
There's a silver lining 
Through the dark cloud shining, 
Turn the dark cloud inside out, 
Till the boys come home. 

LONG, LONG TRAIL 

There's a long, long trail a-winding, 

Into the land of my dreams. 
Where the nightingales are singing. 

And the white moon beams ; 
There's a long, long night of waiting. 

Until my dreams all come true. 
Till the day when I'll be going down. 

That long, long trail with you. 



OH! FRENCHY 

Oh, Frenchy, oh, Frenchy, Frenchy! 
Although your language is not new to me. 
When you say "Oui oui, la la," 
"We" means you and me, la la. 
Oh, Frenchy, oh, Frenchy, Frenchy! 
You've won my love with your bravery, 
March on, march on, with any girl you see. 
But when you la la la la la. 
Oh, Frenchy, save your la la la's for me. 



GOOD MORNING, MR. ZIP-ZIP-ZIP 

Good morning, Mr. Zip-Zip-Zip, 

With your hair cut just as short as mine; 

Good morning, Mr. Zip-Zip-Zip, 

You're surely looking fine. 

Ashes to ashes, and dust to dust. 

If the Camels don't get you. 

The Fatimas must. 
Good morning, Mr. Zip-Zip-Zip, 
With your hair cut just as short as. 
Your hair cut just as short as, 
Your hair cut just as short as mine. 

OVER THERE 

Over there, over there. 

Send the word, send the word, over there 

That the Yanks are coming. 

The Yanks are coming; 

The drums rum-tumming everywhere; 

So prepare, say a prayer, 

Send the word, send the v,'ord, to beware, 

We'll be over, we're coming over, 

And we won't come back till it's over, over there. 



MADELON 

O Madelon, you are the only one, 

Madelon, for you we'll carry on. 

It's so long since we have seen a miss 
Won't you give us just a kiss? 
But Madelon, she takes it all in fun, 
She laughs and says, 
"You see, it can't be done. 

1 would like, but how can I consent, 
When I'm true to the whole regiment." 

KEEP YOUR HEAD DOWN, FRITZIE BOY 

Keep your head down, Fritzie boy, 

Keep your head down, Fritzie boy. 

Last night, by the pale moonlight. 

We saw you, we saw you. 

You were mending broken wire. 

When we opened rapid fire, 

If you want to see your father in your Fatherland 

Keep your head down, Fritzie boy. 



n'83 3 



A Few Fbvcta 

The battery is indebted to Lieutenant Armstrong for his thought- 
fulness in mailing to each of us a copy of the letter printed below. 
It is incorporated in these pages in order that we may preserve in 
permanent form the interesting remarks which it contains concern- 
ing subjects near to our hearts. 

TO THE MEN OP BATTERY ' 'A, ' ' 306TH ]riELD ARTILLERY: 

You will want to know about the last resting-place 
of our former Comrades, Samuel Reid, Rene Mongeon, 
Herbert Eck and Herschel Tritt. 

I have just returned from a short trip abroad. 
While there, I took occasion to visit their graves. 
They are all sleeping together on a lovely hillside, 
overlooking Pismes, at the junction of the Vesle and 
the Ardre. 

With them lie 1700 other men, from the 4th, 28th 
and 77th Divisions, — all of those who fought with us 
between the Vesle and the Aisne and fell. 

In walking about the Cemetery, it was noticeable 
how large a proportion of the dead were artillerymen 
from the 152d F. A. Brigade. 

Over each grave stands a white wooden Cross with 
the man's original identification disc firmly nailed 
to the top and his name, rank and organization in 
plain black letters, and the number of the grave. 
Officers and men are buried indiscriminately. 

In the center of the plot, high above" everything 
else, stands a white pole with the Flag. 

The Cemetery is in charge of an American, with an 
ex-private from the 1st Division as his assistant, 
and is kept in splendid shape. Each grave is covered 
with beautiful green sod. For miles away, in every 
direction, this spot is visible— a huge white patch on 
the hillside. 

You may rest assured that our Comrades have not 
been forgotten, and it seems peculiarly fitting to me 
that they should sleep forever in sight of the Vesle , 
overlooking the ground they won back for France, and 
I personally hope that they will. 

It is but an hour's walk back to our old Battery 
Position below Chery Chartreuve. The country no 
longer shows any signs of war. The hills are covered 
with sheep, cows and horses; all the shell holes have 
been covered up. The little villages are completely 

n'84] 



restored and filled with contented men, women and 
children, and on the day I was there the sun was 
shining. 

Once only did I hear firing, — and found a twelve- 
year-old boy shooting " birds . 

Our old Regimental Headquarters is the most pros- 
perous of farms ,— courtyard filled with chickens, 
pigs, &c., and enormous haystacks dot the countryside. 
Even the old dugouts are completely overgrown and 
scarcely visible. 

I hope you will all have an opportunity some day 
to see the country you won back for its people. It 
makes everything seem a little more worth while. 

With kindest regards to you all. 

Your friend, 

WILLIAM C. ARMSTRONG. 

New York, October 15th, 1920. 

Undoubtedly some of the battery do not know that the bodies 
of our friends who were killed in France have been brought to this 
country. Lieutenant Reid's body arrived on the U.S.S. Wheaton at 
Hoboken, N. J., on Sunday, May 22, 1921. Services were conducted 
at the pier by the American Legion for all those who were brought 
over at that time. The flag-covered casket containing the remains 
was removed from Hoboken to the Grace Presbyterian Church, 
Brooklyn, N. Y., where services were held on the afternoon of May 
26th. About sixty men from Battery "A" and a number from 
other units of the regiment were present. The services, conducted 
by Dr. Robert Carson, assisted by Chaplain Thomas, were brief and 
simple. At their conclusion the body was taken to the Reid family 
plot in Cypress Hills Cemetery, Brooklyn. The committal service 
was read by Chaplain Thomas, and a prayer given by Dr. Carson. 
A bugler sounded taps, and a firing-squad, consisting of soldiers 
from Governor's Island, fired the volleys over the grave. 

The remains of Herbert Eck arrived at Hoboken about the same 
time as Lieutenant Reid's. On June 6, 1921, services were held at 
the Ericson Funeral Parlors in New York City. The interment fol- 
lowed immediately in St. Michael's Cemetery, where full military 
honors were accorded. 

Rene Mongeon's body was also brought over on the Wheaton. 
It was taken to his home at Indian Orchard, Massachusetts, where 
he was finally laid to rest, on June i ith, with military honors. 



The body of Herschel C. Tritt arrived on the same steamer with 
those of Mongeon and Lieutenant Reid. It was forwarded to the 
South and buried, on June loth, in Arlington Cemetery. Lieutenant 
Harold Stokes was sent to attend the funeral as a representative of 
the 306th Field Artillery Post of the American Legion. 




ROSTER OF BATTERY BY STATES 



Alabama i 

Connecticut 6 

Georgia i 

Illinois 13 

Indiana i 

Iowa 10 

Louisiana i 

Maine i 

Massachusetts 35 

Michigan 1 

Minnesota 20 

Montana 1 

New Hampshire 2 

New Jersey 4 



New York 1 39 

North Dakota i 

Ohio 3 

Pennsylvania 12 

Rhode Island 

South Carolina 

Tennessee 

Utah 

Vermont 

Wisconsin 



Unaccounted for 11 



Total 271 



Accountant 
Actor . . . . 
Advertiser 
Architect 

Artist 

Assembler 
Baker . . . . 
Banker . . . 



ROSTER OF BATTERY BY OCCUPATION 

2 Barber 

2 Blacksmith 

I Boiler-maker 

I Bookkeeper 

2 Broker 

I Butcher 

I Buyer 

I Cabinet-maker 



D863 



ROSTER OF BATTERY BY OCCUPATION (continued) 



Car conductor i 

Carpenter 5 

Celluloid polisher i 

Chauffeur 13 

Chemical weigher i 

Clergyman i 

Clerk 25 

College professor i 

Confectioner i 

Cotton spinner i 

Credit man i 

Die maker i 

Electrician 4 

Engineer, civil 2 

Engineer, electrical i 

Engineer, mechanical i 

Exporter i 

Farmer 26 

Fireman 1 

Furrier i 

Gardener i 

Garment cutter i 

Haberdasher i 

Hall man i 

Hand filer *. . . . i 

Hotel-keeper i 

Insurance 4 

Laborer 13 

Lathe worker i 

Lawyer 6 

Leather finisher i 

Leather grainer 1 

Linen folder i 

Lithographer i 

Locomotive fireman i 

Lumber-jack i 

Machinist 10 

Manufacturer 3 

Marble worker i 

Marine engineer i 

Marine fireman 2 

Mason 3 

Mechanic 10 

Merchant 10 



Messenger-boy 

Miner 

Motion-picture producer .... 

Motor-cyclist 

Motorman 

Oil producer 

Organist 

Fainter 3 

Paper-maker 3 

Physician 

Pilot 

Pipe-cutter 

Pipe-fitter 2 

Plumber 3 

Policeman 

Printer 

Publicity agent 

Publisher 

Race-horse trainer 

Restaurant proprietor 

Rifle inspector 

Sawyer 

Seaman 

Secretary 

Shoemaker 

Stationary engineer 

Steel chipper 

Steel inspector 

Stenographer 

Stevedore 

Storekeeper 

Student 

Salesman 

Tailor 

Teacher 

Teamster 

Valet 

Veterinarian 

Waiter 

Weaver 

Wheelmaker 

Unaccounted for 17 



Total 271 



[187] 



ROSTER OF BATTERY BY COUNTRY OF BIRTH 



Austria i 

Brazil i 

Canada 5 

England 3 

Finland 3 

Germany 2 

Greece 3 

Holland 1 

Ireland 8 

Italy 17 

Lithuania '. 2 



Norway 3 

Poland 4 

Russia 10 

Spain I 

Sweden 5 

Turkey i 

United States 189 

Unaccounted for 12 



Total 27 1 



COLLEGES AND UNIVERSITIES REPRESENTED 



Amherst 

Brown 

Colgate 

Columbia 

Georgia Institute of 

Technology 

Harvard 

Muhlenberg 



IN BATTERY 



New York Law School 3 

Olivet I 

Princeton 3 



St. Lawrence i 

Stevens Institute 2 

Trinity 

University of Minnesota .... 
University of Pennsylvania . . 
University of Pittsburgh .... 

Vanderbilt 

Yale 2 



Total college men 26 



iim 




M(f| Rosier s^BdJtteiyX Bf\ 



The roster necessarily contains inaccuracies regarding both ranks and ad- 
dresses. The latter are listed as given to the editors in Dancevoir, except in the 
case of men who have subsequently notified us of a change of residence. 

The names of all officers who served with the battery prior to the armistice 
are registered. Those who were transferred to other units before the armistice 
are indicated by a parenthetical note, giving the rank which they held while in 
the battery. We have taken the liberty of including as members of the battery 
Captain Kirkpatrick and Chaplain Thomas, whom we ever regarded as virtually 
among our number, but whose names, up to this time, we have never had the 
pleasurable opportunity of inscribing upon our official rolls. 

Among the non-commissioned officers, those who were permanently trans- 
ferred from the organization have been designated by a notation, in paren- 
theses, of the rank which they held as members of the battery. 

In connection with all names appearing on the roster, rank has been given, 
so far as information is available, in accordance with the rank held by each in- 
dividual at the time of the final promotions, made in Noyen in March, 1919. 

MAJOR 
Dick, Fairman R. (Captain), 30 Pine St., New York, N. Y. 

CAPTAINS 

Bryan, Gray McW., Princeton Club, New York, N. Y. 
Grahn, John A., Jr. (2d Lieut.), 259 Savin Hill Ave., Dorchester, Mass. 
Ketcham, John H. (ist Lieut.), 91 Wall St., New York, N. Y. 
Kirkpatrick, Jere W., Medical Corps, Richard City, Tenn. 
Thomas, Albert C, Chaplain, 146 East i88th St., New York, N. Y. 

FIRST LIEUTENANTS 

Barker, Shirley T., Nichols & Shepard Co., Battle Creek, Mich. 
Greene, Frank R. (2d Lieut.), 233 Broadway, New York, N. Y. 
O'Connor, Robert B. (ist Lieut.), 179 Broadway, Flushing, N. Y. 
Pitman, Theodore B. (ist Lieut.), 202 Boylston St., Boston, Mass. 
Reid, Samuel J., Jr., deceased. 

Swenson, Herbert J. (ist Lieut.), 346 Broadway, New York, N. Y. 
Vollmer, William A. (ist Lieut.), 12 17 Dean St., Brooklyn, N. Y. 

SECOND LIEUTENANTS 

Ardiff, William J. (ist Sgt.),4i Convent Ave., New York, N. Y. 
Armstrong, William C. (2d Lieut.), 32 East 6ist St., New York, N. Y. 
Balph, Charles F., Box 805, Ponca City, Okla. 

CiSq] 



SECOND LIEUTENANTS (continued) 

Burke, Walter (2d Lieut.), 1418 Alapai St., Honolulu, T. H. 

Hogg, Thomas H., 2d F. A. Armory, 66th St. and Franklin Ave., Brook- 
lyn, N. Y. 

Shearer, William A., i Maplewood Court, 47 Johnson Ave., Indianapo- 
lis, Ind. 

Tritt, Herschel C. (2d Lieut.), deceased. 

SERGEANTS 

*Baecker, Fred C, ist Sergeant, 420 East 8th St., Brooklyn, N. Y. 
ScHiLDKNECHT, Charles, ist Sergeant, 1640 Stephen St., Evergreen, Bor- 
ough of Queens, New York, N. Y. 
*Welch, William J., Jr., ist Sergeant, 9 Hanover St., New York, N. Y. 

Bernstein, Harold (Sergeant), 404 Fourth Ave., New York, N. Y. 

DuMONT, Louis W., 9 Hanover St., New York, N. Y. 

Field, Francis L., 1328 East 22d St., Brooklyn, N. Y. 

FiSK, Harry T. (Corporal), 3004 Heath Ave., New York, N. Y. 

Franklin, Charles W., 25 Pierrepont St., Brooklyn, N. Y. 

Gibbons, Charles H., 339 Fifth Ave., New York, N. Y. 

Gray, George P., 7021 Merrill Ave., Chicago, 111. 

Jensen, Christian W., 1801 California Ave., Chicago, 111. 

Lennon, John J., Supply Sergeant, 368 Union St., Brooklyn, N. Y. 

Levy, Clarence (Supply Sergeant), 39 Ainslie St., Brooklyn, N. Y. 

Marriner, Charles G., 28 Marlboro Road, Flushing, N. Y. 

Mueller, Henry R., Mess Sergeant, 230 North Mary St., Lancaster, Pa. 

Potts, John, 63 Wall St., New York, N. Y. 

Richards, Guy H., 850 Park Ave., New York, N. Y. 

Thurlow, Robert C, Atlantic City, N. J. 

Washkevitz, John, Stable Sergeant, 143 East 17th St., New York, N. Y. 

CORPORALS 

Barnes, John J., Jr., 793 Forest Ave., Brooklyn, N. Y. 

Boyd, James A., 201 Monitor St., Brooklyn, N. Y. 

Breckwoldt, Mattias (Private), 152 Sterling St., Brooklyn, N. Y. 

Cohen, Leon B., 966 St. Marks Ave., Brooklyn, N. Y. 

CuRRAN, Michael J., 269 Lincoln Road, Brooklyn, N. Y. 

DuBois, Fred, 520 Manhattan Ave., New York, N. Y. 

Dunkak, John H., Jr., 910 Prospect Place, Brooklyn, N. Y. 

Feldman, James N., 565 West 148th St., New York, N. Y. 

Furlong, Richard G., Jr., 260 Radde St., Long Island City, N. Y. 

Hahn, Albert J., Bay View Hotel, Sheepshead Bay, Brooklyn, N. Y. 

Hanfield, DeWitt C, 54 Wheeler St., West Orange, N. J. 

* Graduates of Officers' Training School, Saumur, France. 

P90] 



CORPORALS (continued) 

Kopp, Joseph J., 183 Hill St., Maspeth, Long Island, N. Y. 
Lynch, James M., 57 Drake Ave., New Rochelle, N. Y. 
Mansfield, William J., 18 Windsor St., Springfield, Mass. 
Margarelli, John H. (Corporal), 9534 Fort Hamilton Parkway, Brook- 
lyn, N. Y. 
Minderman, John H., 256 Kingston Ave., Brooklyn, N. Y. 
Murphy, James A., 289 Parkside Ave., Brooklyn, N. Y. 
Petterson, John M., i 10 Summit St., Brooklyn, N. Y. 
Prendergast, John, 407 Ocean Ave., Brooklyn, N. Y. 
Ring, Alphonse C, 125 St. Marks Ave., Brooklyn, N. Y. 
Sachs, Charles (Corporal), Brighton Beach, Brooklyn, N. Y. 
ScHAF, Joseph J. (Private), 179 East i ith St., New York, N. Y. 
Sorries, Fred, 14 Bay Ave., Patchogue, Long Island, N. Y. 
Steuterman, Adolph, 1947 Linden Ave., Memphis, Tenn. 
Stevens, Allan C, care of Tibbits, Prince & Ripley, White Plains, N. Y. 
Topp, Herbert G. (Corporal), 31 Hudson St., Hartford, Conn. 
Zoller, William, 708 East 13th St., New York, N. Y. 

BUGLERS 

Houghton, Robert, Jr., First Class, 2208 Seventh Ave., New York, N. Y. 
Parry, Harry H., 384 Cary Ave., West New Brighton, Staten Island, N. Y. 
Rosenberg, Joseph D., care of Washington Shop, 2554 Broadway, New 
York, N. Y. 

COOKS 

Bertuzzi, Albert, 314 East 105th St., New York, N. Y. 
HoLL, Adolph, 448 East i8ist St., New York, N. Y. 
Miller, Edmund W., i 125 East 1 5th St., Brooklyn, N. Y. 
Strack, Carl H., 404 West 53d St., New York, N. Y. 

MECHANICS 

Clark, John H., 50 Elmwood Ave., Bogota, N. J. 

Fioravera, Fiorentino, Chief Mech., 564 Seventh Ave., New York, N. Y. 

Warren, Thomas J., Chief Mech., 122 East i8th St., New York, N. Y. 

WAGGONERS 

Buntrock, Richard, Ottertail, Minn. 

Cavaricci, Louis, 50 N. Division Ave., Rockaway Beach, N. Y. 
Christiansen, Harold W., 906 Herkimer St., Brooklyn, N. Y. 
Cummings, Patrick J., 1362 Bergen St., Brooklyn, N. Y. 
Dineen, Daniel, 45 Swanton St., Winchester, Mass. 

[191] 



WAGGONERS (continued) 

DiNEEN, Richard T., 8004 Eighteenth Ave., Brooklyn, N. Y. 
EsTROMiNSKi, Nathan, 610 East 136th St., New York, N. Y. 
Fredsell, Charles R., 218 East 45th St., New York, N. Y. 
Gallagher, J. George, 234 West 51st St., New York, N. Y. 
Helmcke, Henry, 470 West 1 57th St., New York, N. Y. 
Hendricksen, Harry W., 90 Rock St., Norwood, Mass. 
KiENLE, Joseph C., 62 Dakota Ave., Columbia, O. 
Knox, George L., Bruin, Butler Co., Pa. 
Lajoie, Wilbrod J., 92 Ash St., Gardner, Mass. 
Moulds, Harry H., 348 Eastern Parkway, Brooklyn, N. Y. 
Shine, Thomas J., 1653 Weirfield St., Brooklyn, N. Y. 
Spiedel, Julius, address unavailable. 
Walker, William E., 514 West 177th St., New York, N. Y. 



FIRST-CLASS PRIVATES 

Adamic, Charles C, 204 Lefferts Place, Brooklyn, N. Y. 
Babich, Nick, 421 Chestnut St., Anaconda, Mont. 
Blake, Lewis H., State Road, North Adams, Mass. 
BoEDEKER, Charles, Lowden, la. 

Boyle, Thomas D., 546 West 1 56th St., New York, N. Y. 
Brooks, Arthur E., 4 Elm St., Reading, Mass. 
Buckley, Barney, 309 East 55th St., New York, N. Y. 
BuRKARD, Walter, 546 Hart St., Brooklyn, N. Y. 
Cali, Nunzio, 417 East 12th St., New York, N. Y. 
Callahan, Edward F., 714 West 179th St., New York, N. Y. 
Childs, Charles A., 507 West 11 ith St., New York, N. Y. 
Connolly, Edward M., 1297 St. John's Place, Brooklyn, N. Y. 
Fichtner, Frank J., 7 Aiken Place, Rutland, Vt. 
FoLviG, Anker, R. F. D. No. i. Mentor, Minn. 
Foster, Arthur H., 14 Maple St., Greenfield, Mass. 
FouRNiER, Alexander, 17 Morris St., Fitchburg, Mass. 
Gill, Charles B., 43 West Park St., Brockton, Mass. 
Goldfinger, Theodore, 2381 Broadway, New York, N. Y. 
Gross, Henry I., 315 Lincoln Road, Brooklyn, N. Y. 
Hale, Harold B., 310 East 70th St., New York, N. Y. 
Huntington, Morton, 5 Ditmas Ave., Brooklyn, N. Y. 
Kearns, Thomas V., 173 East 1 1 ith St., New York, N. Y. 
KopY, Andre, 145 Cleveland St., New Britain, Conn. 
McDermott, Edward J., 850 St. Marks Ave., Brooklyn, N. Y. 
McKiNLEY, Harry F., 21 i East 69th St., New York, N. Y. 
McTiernan, Edward J., 241 Rutland Road, Brooklyn, N. Y. 
Maroni, Lorenzo F., 57 Pleasant St., Newburyport, Mass. 
Meader, Charles, Box 76, Howard Beach, Long Island, N. Y. 



FIRST-CLASS PRIVATES (continued) 

Merrylees, William J., 34 East 82d St., New York, N. Y. 
Messing, Arthur M., 941 Tiffany St., Bronx, N. Y. 
Meyer, John P., 1645 6ist St., Brooklyn, N. Y. 
Mueller, Alvin E., 228 Ridgewood Ave., Brooklyn, N. Y, 
Murphy, Joseph A., 93 Putnam Ave., Brooklyn, N. Y. 
Nelson, Edward, 903 Jefferson Ave., Albert Lea, Minn. 
Nelson, Peter A., 55 Pond St., Winchester, Mass. 
Newberg, Emil C, 643 Flatbush Ave., Brooklyn, N. Y. 
Pender, Joseph F., i i Audubon Ave., New York, N. Y. 
Pollock, Robert, Closter, N. J. 
Sanchez, Joseph, 219 East 95th St., New York, N. Y. 
Schoen, John J., 407 East 87th St., New York, N. Y. 
Skidmore, Fred V., 392 Second Ave., New York, N. Y. 
Smith, Vernon B., 53 Prospect St., Cortland, N. Y. 
Solinski, Israel, 1547 Morris Ave., Bronx, N. Y. 
Southard, Frederick J., 4 Colonial Boulevard, Hillsdale, N. J. 
Stewart, Albert C, 36 Runnymede Ave., Lansdowne, Pa. 
Turner, Emanuel D., 266 86th St., Brooklyn, N. Y. 
Widdowfield, Frank E., 247 Winthrop St., Brooklyn, N. Y. 



PRIVATES 

AcKERiNO, Anthony A., 951 Franklin Ave., Brooklyn, N. Y. 

Amundson, Sigfred, Clitherall, Minn. 

Apenes, Christian M., 27 Bay St., Dorchester, Mass. 

Arends, Jans S., Applington, la. 

Aronni, Michele, Aurora, Minn. 

Axthelm, Albert, 433 East 79th St., New York, N. Y. 

Baron, Andrew O., 230 N. Second Ave., Duluth, Minn. 

Bassetti, Ralph, i i 16 50th St., Brooklyn, N. Y. 

Bencosa, Thomas, 149 Skillman St., Brooklyn, N. Y. 

Benforado, Mark J., 246 Manhattan Ave., New York, N. Y. 

Bergstrom, Simon T., Two Harbors, Minn. 

Berman, Hyman, 189 Montague St., Brooklyn, N. Y. 

Bieza, Michael J., 3813 East 41st St., Minneapolis, Minn. 

Bobotas, James C, 1715 Market St., Denver, Colo. 

BoRKOwsKi, Stanislaw, 409 Pleasant St., Gardner, Mass. 

BoRTZ, Adam C, Route No. i, Norway, la. 

BowE, James J., 448 Main St., Athol, Mass. 

Braman, George E., Buford, N. D. 

Brillakes, Nick, 141 1 Dace St., Sioux City, la. 

Broesder, John, Little Rock, la. 

Brown, Mortimer T., Huntington Station, Long Island, N. Y. 

Brunette, Charles, Ogena, Minn. 



i:'93] 



PRIVATES (continued) 
BuNSTROM, Walter, Arthyde, Minn. 
BuRSTENOVECH, Adam, South Dcerfield, Mass. 
BusGAARD, Bennie A., Hayficld, Minn. 
BussE, Ben. J., Ada, Minn. 

Campbell, Gordon H., 313 West 1 14th St., New York, N. Y. 
Caplick, Leo A. J., 129 Scoville Ave., Buffalo, N. Y. 
Cavaggioni, PiEDRO, 9 1 Summer St., Springfield, Mass. 
Ceccarilli, Domenico, Eynon, Pa. 
Cerro, Angelo D., 18 Washington St., Hinsdale, ill. 
Cherveny, Louis, Box 68, Ely, la. 
Collier, Cecil F., Route No. 3, Mulberry Grove, III. 
Crege, Tony, i Gold Park Ave., Batavia, N. Y. 
Crippen, Henry E., Onawa, la. 
CzARNETSKi, AuGusT, address unavailable. 
Danzl, Joseph J., Box 16, Melrose, Minn. 
Davis, Henry S., R. F. D. No. i, Janesville, la. 
DeBerg, Jake K., Little Rock, la. 
DeCarli, John V., Central St., Stafford Springs, Conn. 
EcK, Herbert, deceased. 

EspoLiN, Andreas N., 1819 Fifth St. South, Minneapolis, Minn. 
Farber, Harry, 107 Forsythe St., New York, N. Y. 
Flatau, Herbert H., 1317 Burnette Ave., Cincinnati, O. 
Geiger, Joseph J., 16 Poplar St., Yonkers, N. Y. 
Gelbach, Rudolph, 602 River Terrace, Hoboken, N. J. 
GiANNiNi, Pasquale, 742 Worthingtou St., Springfield, Mass. 
Graney, Thomas F., 1539 East 12th St., Brooklyn, N. Y. 
Hagman, Alger, 310 Cedar Ave., Minneapolis, Minn. 
Handler, Nathan E., 1383 Carroll St., Brooklyn, N. Y. 
Hanley, William J., 44 Rock St., Lowell, Mass. 
Harrison, Abraha.m, 114 Wooster St., Hartford, Conn. 
Harrison, Emil L, Box 96, Templeton, Mass. 
Hassman, Tom, 80 loth St., Springfield, Mass. 
Howe, Melvin, R. F. D. No. 3, Delhi, N. Y. 
Iannuzelli, John, 1130 Carpenter St., Philadelphia, Pa. 
Jacobs, Fay R., 655 West 62d St., Chicago, 111. 
Jennings, Ralph M., McClure, O. 

Kane, William P., 625 Central Ave., Far Rockaway, N. Y. 
Keane, Andrew F., 341 East 78th St., New York, N. Y. 
Kennedy, Thomas J., address unavailable 
Kerr, Daniel F., 102 57th St., Brooklyn, N. Y. 
Kerrigan, John W., 79 Scranton St., Winchester, Mass. 
Key, Nezrett S., 121 Crescent Ave., Jackson, Tenn. 
KiNCAiD, Isaac, 228 Trenton St., Pittsburgh, Pa. 
Kirane, James H., 32 Crosby St., Lowell, Mass. 
Kircharr, Silbey H., Jeddo, Ala. 

[194;] 



PRIVATES (continued) 
KiSLiNG, Harry C, R. F. D. No. 3, Winton, la. 
KiTTRiDGE, Marin E., 14 Coyne St., Clinton, Mass. 
Klaras, Anthony P., St. James, Minn. 

Kleinhampl, Frank, i 138 Brabee St., North Side, Pittsburgh, Pa. 
Knell, Elmer M., 3028 Venzel St., North Side, Pittsburgh, Pa. 
Knight, Ralph F., 21 Kellogg St., Westfield, Mass. 
Krack, William, 453 Lincoln Ave., Brooklyn, N. Y. 
Krause, Gustave W., 427^ East 7th St., Michigan City, Ind. 
KujAWSKi, John M., 15 18 West 17th St., Chicago, 111. 
Kutz, Mervin L., 400 East Main St., Mechanicsburg, Pa. 
Lauricella, Dominick, 4427 Stephenson Ave., Los Angeles, Cal. 
LeBlanc, Edward L., 25 Granite St., Fitchburg, Mass. 
LeBlanc, Thaddee, 23 Greenwood St., Gardner, Mass. 
Lefkowitz, Max, 7 West 1 12th St., New York, N. Y. 
Lehoullier, Alfred N., 6 Pleadwell St., Taunton, Mass. 
Levey, Abraham, 742 East 9th St., New York, N. Y. 
LiEBERMAN, Philip T., New London, Conn. 
LizzoTT, Fred A., 10 Saranac St., Littleton, N. H. 
McIntosh, James M., 285 State Road, North Adams, Mass. 
Maggio, Valentino, 39 East 107th St., New York, N. Y. 
Manassa, Joseph, 540 West 163d St., New York, N. Y. 
Manthey, Charles, 2676 Eighth Ave., New York, N. Y. 
Mazeiko, John, 3059 West 38th St., Chicago, 111. 
Meyers, Harry, 421 Rogers Ave., Brooklyn, N. Y. 
Miller, Irving G., 219 Oak Grove Ave., Springfield, Mass. 
Miller, Joseph A., 449 Hamilton St., Long Island City, N. Y. 
Mitchell, Samuel A., Columbia, S. C. 
MoGET, John, address unavailable. 
Mohrbacker, Lambert J., 106 ist St., Crosby, Minn. 
Mongeon, Rene H., deceased. 

Moore, Garret E., 51 Tenth Ave., Whitestone, L. 1., N. Y. 
Moreno, Anthony, address unavailable. 
MoRiN, Dona E., 2063 North Main St., Fall River, Mass. 
Morin, Joseph H., 15 Emorey St., Manchester, N. H. 
Myers, Jerry, Bemis, Me. 

Nelson, Fingal, 1918 Farragut Ave., Chicago, III. 
Nelson, Nels S., Route No. 4, Rothsay, Minn. 
Nelson, P. Einar, 2109 N. Richmond St., Chicago, 111. 
Nemovicher, Echiel, 106 West 26th St., New York, N. Y. 
Pedercine, Louis J., 739 So. Church St., North Adams, Mass. 
Pratt, William, Jr., 404 West 57th St., New York, N. Y. 
RiANi, Antonio, 930 Hampden St., Holyoke, Mass. 
RiELLY, Robert B., Broadway, Dobbs Ferry, N. Y. 
Romano, Dominick, 39 William St., Springfield, Mass. 
RuoTsiNojA, William J., Route No. 3, Kimball, Minn. 



PRIVATES (continued) 
RuPEiKis, Stanley, 2008 West 23d St., Chicago, 111. 
Rush, Charles H., R. F. D. No. i, Berkshire Ave., Springfield, Mass. 
Sampsell, James, Box 25, New Columbia, Pa. 
ScAFiDi, Fred, 305 East 107th St., New York, N. Y. 
ScHAMBURGER, Edward, Sabin, Minn. 
ScHEFFLER, Frank, 207 Main St., Menasha, Wis. 
ScHNiBBE, Arthur M., 216 Winthrop St., Brooklyn, N. Y. 
ScHURMAN, John, Holland, Minn. 
SiEGAL, Harry, 1224 State St., Bridgeport, Conn. 
Smith, Lester L., Route No. i, Lamoni, la. 
Steiger, Frank T., iii Pine St., Holyoke, Mass. 
SussMAN, Abraham, 70 So. 4th St., Brooklyn, N. Y. 
SwETTS, George J., 303 Hughes St., Mattboy, Pa. 
Theodorropoulos, Peter, 1521 Westfield St., Springfield, Mass. 
Tobias, George H., 555 Eastern Parkway, Brooklyn, N. Y. 
Wyrwalski, Walter, 2228 West 18 Place, Chicago, 111. 
Zalokar, John, 2331 So. Fiftieth Ave., Cicero, 111. 
Zuckerman, Herbert B., 958 Eastern Parkway, Brooklyn, N. Y. 



:>963 



i9ir 

April 6 

3cp"ben\Ber>10 

3epbc-mb0rl2 
Scpbeii\Ber22 
Oc-boLci? 3 

OctoBe-p 22 

November' 8 

November 22 
November 2 r 

December 21 

December 2t5 

1918 

Fei)r\ia:^22 

MbPcK 18 

2\pril 22 
J\pril 2^ 



B5J::>be2^ADie^ 



i\rrv£3?ica^ arvtKe mvperial Gentvsiv Empire. 

First cocrviiiN$iei<fe of N^jsMoivs*! Arm^ 
aoppivTsd aJ3 Ceat>p Upfeoiv. 

Bodbbe^ X oi?j} aa\iz e d . 

Bdcbbejj^K' q\ia3?feerelii\.barrdcck J-43. 

Badbfee'jy2\. remove, i quaar^ers ■boBeo^pads 
Qiv4bK.fWTL. coi?i\£a? of IGtiK. Stsreets. 

CoiKmizrvCeicMzrdb of sixfeeeiv^^ekperiod 
of iiNbei\$iv^ -br ediviiN^ . 

CorcbiiN^eTxt, d£pe>ar't5ed fop Caa:i>p Goi?clcnx 
-Adv^rcb of ihieLa^^. 

SKDr>elx£Qx^ l>ik£. 

TKsoxk^^ivii^ ^^^ diTccMti* aoxd 

Bdijbe^ 2djbe3\dedpl2c,r of 'Ovei? tKiLTop" 
at tb^aJbipe i2xl;T^•WIOl?k. 

Cl>Q?i3'bT0^2v^ . 



Tei?mir\2>i:nro\. of sixbeejv 'wce'k pepiod 
of ^irdse2\^ve -traoj^ir^. !Par>auie at TZ-bK. 
BivdjSioTv iivNe-w ^:pk City. 

Br^asd£, Revie"w iiv69tK!R£jir\£]Nb AtTtvogy 
Ne'w YcDpk: City — BaOl f ollawed . 

Left Cacmp XJptcnv, 3:10 A.K. 

Sailed, fronv Hoiokaiv a^t 5:30ATl.aiv 
O.S.5. LcvievtKsax.. 

£i\tejped 5MBm2)apirv£ zqi\£, aoNd picked 
Mp ciorcvor>r. 

AcQ^dved adb !&i?e$b,pp£^ru:<t,dt daoviv. Bt- 
i)aa?k£.d aoxd arrive darvPrerdiK soil 5:00P.H. 
iWived at Caicp JParidiva^eiv 8:00 P.K. 

Left Lrest . 

Arrived at; BoiMNj^a:^: 2:30 AH. 

CacrtY deSoNx^e 3:30 A.M. 

['97] 



c o zv"biix>xc (3. 

J\jT\s, 8 R.<2,ceivT2d. Howitzeips. 

J\JT\2, 11 't^D\m.dL^^'\jrsS to 2?3a^^e . 

Jviro2 13 PrpecL ^^Knvs for> fij?,st tirrug . 

chnlv' 2 Bjaa:^e closed— le^^t fipir^ iixCaaxvp 

Jvily 15 LefbCajiNp de 3c7vicJe. 

Jul>rl6 Left Bcxrcruea:^ 6:00A.M. 

J\]iy 18 Amve3.2dbBaj;car>2dD acr^Bois d£ Bcrolay. 

<Jviy 20 GnxrvS 'w<22v±> iixfeo po;sibio3x. . 

July 36 GmtvS ■w^3^i; i2>dso aocbioivfoi? frc^fe -feiitxe. 

<J\it;r 30 ltiTVT^d.i)aj^k.fT?onvpo^it>iai}^ . 

ANi^>vi3fe 1 Be^aarv lulx "bo Ve^le 5ec-bor. 

Axi^M5fcl3 ApiTTved. ad3 ISTe^lcL Woo(is . 

AMjKi^t 15 llJJv^<iir±o fir^t Ve5l£. positiuiv. 

A>a:j^a^t>lT Bcmxb5a:^d2.3_ a>jcb a£ positioiv. 

3e^idz: ^^ood^ . -*- 

:AMyu$t 19 Lt-. Tr>itrt- Idlle d. 

AvxcKiat) 21 Fi2?^3. cav a^o^d. d^g-bpoy^cL Taa^aN£2?i£ . 

j^sifKi^t. 32 Po^itLcJiv sl\fll?.d ^~- — > Lis. Raid. &3xB. 
Pvt. Bck kiUed . 

2WyM$-b 33 Pvb. Mor^eoiv killed. 

sVi^Aist 24 HovT^dix^Lo op e3:x. field po>5itioiv. 

Septenxiiei? 4: Ifovcd foi?wa3?d i30"wsi'd Ve3l£ Bivtzr. 

SeptenxBer 6 Cpo;ssedA/e$le K.v^a? «=- — '"Wexd^iaxbo 

Sepfee2rvBei?14 AX^Adpe^w bxr»o,5,s Ve;sle Eivej? 2a\do\xt 
C2f Ve^le 5ec"tcrr>. 

Septe2]\£ei?16 CcmMr\£3M:ed IvLke, "bo A]?^ oi\3X£ . 

SepfeenxBei? Z4: AtTTiv^d. 2>db Ai?^o]>3\£: e>i\d w^ivb iiNfco 



Scptcnvbej? 25 

SepiseiTvEer 50 
OctoBep 6 

October 10 
OctQBeD?12 
Octofei? 14, 

OctoEerlS 
0cfeo3ep25 
Nc3\nai\£<zp 1 
NovoxBer 11 
KoveiiNBep 28 
NcsvorvBep 30 
tiecenxBei? 1 
Leceitvbep 3 
ISecejTxBep 25 

1919 

J5x^^a2>a7)^ 2 6 
FeLrMsa:^ T 
Fei5rM2)2^ 9 
FeBiAibo^y 2 3 
M5t?cK 21 
Appil r 
Appil 17 

f^ppil 18 
April 20 

April 22 



c 3:>-"t)izNCvxe d- 

positiaTx. a±, Lc Rx3i\i Clvanxp. 
lleM3e-A2^ora>^ Off eiv^iv^ opeixad. 
B5j3be3?7":K! opeivs fire. 2:30 A.M. 
Weivb ii^to positdoiv ad:> A£i?i St. Lcjvai^. 
Fir>ed. "bo ©s^sist; irv. <zi^d3?iC5±iiiv^ 

Wei\±i ircbo po5i±iDivi\£.aa? CKBi:el. 

Ki"bclMUx.j pic]<;2."b liixiL^ eor^d ^^^''^^nv 
positn.ar^ sKaJLe-dL. 

WitKiipev-rfpcrnxpo^iticnx to Ld.Maar»a^ee. 

Hbv^d i)aLck ir\t:o po,sitic5i\.T\£aa:'La-Besq^i\£. 

f:05 A.M. fired l2v^5l\D-b^. 

AKMSTICE I^:*^^. 

Lefb Hoa^ccT-- aa7i?iv^d. a±>2^sxb^. 

Left 2\Mb^^. 

Apra-v^d- adc B a>aMi<z>A5i2:' . 

T\in\£(l^^vQ\s irdto Opd3\33Acel>ep5o?t3r\22d3:. 

Left Ba3A£ie:vDi2?. 

Arrrved- edb ISTayrzix.. 

Left'NoyQ\-~ drriv^i 2>± CaaniNp La^iSvize . 

Left C^sxcvpLa^Sfuzt-retviPiM^d. to Noyezv . 

Fiixsl £mi)5r^k£JdjOiv ii\spectioiv. 

Left Noy722x~ sarrTvedL CaonNp Le>.5^iz ^ 
— eTsfjradiMLd. f oi? £)r»e;S'b . 

Good Fridf^'-* a>a?T?iv-ed e>t Brest. 

E a^ter SmimI.^- enxB aj?"k2.<l cnx U . ,3 .^. 
i^ditMZZTmQiv-leftFpeivcK^oil 3:26 P.M. 

2?b>aNivT2r>s a:py erf lea:vir^ Czotxp Dpt.oi\j 



Me^ 6 
He^lO 



U.S5. 3^aitv2,Ti>j>^itv Sdiled afc 12:40 P.M . 
of ^astbe-gx a-rr-ivTsdiivNew-Yapl^City". 

Left foY' Cdonxp Uptoiv. 

I^BMOBILIZATION — bpairv caoTgyir^ 
di;S<ilva3?^ecLTcv£3?^ aP B5±±-e^x ^' le£ti 
Caorrvp Up-boi^fop ITewYcspk adb 10:00 A.Tl. 




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Treatment Date: ^^ ZUlM 

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